


Bromance For the Ages

by Daryl_Alenko



Series: Superfamily [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Derek Has a Crush on Stiles, Derek growls a lot, Jackson and Stiles are Best Bros, Jackson is a Good Friend, Jackson is no longer a douche, Marvel Universe, Multi, Stiles is Oblivious as EVER, Teen Wolf Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: An Avengers/Teen Wolf crossover!The Beacon Hills pack is happy and flourishing in their lives. Every thing is rainbows and kittens and pack bonding until one day, Stiles doesn't show! Cue Thor, the reason for his absence, and the beginning of a bromance for the ages!





	1. Where The Hell Is Stiles?!?

**Author's Note:**

> A few different Avengers will make a cameo in this, but mostly, just Thor!
> 
> Pack -
> 
> Weres: Derek, Isaac, Scott, Boyd, Jackson, and Erica  
> Humans: Stiles, Lydia, Danny
> 
>  
> 
> Marvel: Thor, Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye
> 
>  
> 
> Seriously, I have no excuse for this beyond **_reasons_**!

* * *

"I don't care! We watched stupid rom-coms all night last time, no more of that bullshit this time!" Isaac snarls the words, eyes blazing beta yellow as he stares down Lydia and Allison from across the room. The Pack has gathered for a typical evening of pizza, movies, and cuddling. (Derek will NEVER admit that cuddling takes place, no matter how true the sentiment is. By the end of the night, everyone will be paired off into little groups of snoring and snuggling. That's what Pack has become.) 

Speaking of Derek. The Alpha is currently standing apart from the rest of those gathered, arms crossed in front of himself as he watches their interactions. He manages to keep himself from grinning as Isaac, Allison, and Lydia square off from a safe distance. Glances over to see Scott and Jackson talking amicably in a corner, probably about lacrosse or something as mundane.

His eyes scan the room again, and he grins. He just can't hold it back this time! His grin grows when he sees Boyd smiling warmly, watching the rest of the Pack. In all truth, Derek once worried about him. Boyd was so quiet, so removed from the rest of them, but he has warmed up considerably, to everyone. They have become a truly integrated Pack and Derek is still riding the Alpha high of it all. 

He draws in a breath and turns to look around the rest of the room and immediately feels a coldness trickle down his spine. A Pack member is missing. The truth of that engulfs him, pushes the air from his lungs when he realizes -who- it is. His chest rumbles in a growl, part annoyance and part concern, as he walks further into the room. Searches from face to face, as if there is any chance he has simply overlooked the teen. But no. 

"... where the hell is Stiles!?" Derek's voice is a barely contained roar that has every beta in the room jumping to nervous attention. Even the two humans tense in preparation for whatever may go wrong. Derek's Alpha crimson eyes are blazing embers of instinct and anger as he looks around. He finally manages to pin the Alpha stare on Scott McCall, lips peeling back to reveal elongated fangs as he advances on the teen. "SCOTT! Where the hell is your stupid friend? Even a plus 1 is supposed to show up." He sneers the words, leaning down into the teen's personal space. Hoping to intimidate an answer out of him. 

"What?!" Scott's voice breaks somewhere in the middle of the word, eyes large as scared saucers as he tries to subtly push himself further out of Derek's space. "How should I know where he is? He said he'd be here, I'm sure he's just running late. His Jeep is probably acting up, or his Dad is leaving late or something." The young beta actually whines, some part of him wanting to whip out his phone and call Stiles up just to holler at him for being the reason he accidentally drew the Alpha's attention. These days, it seems the only time Derek had anything to say to Scott, it was about something Stiles had or had not done. 

"... and you didn't think to, oh, I don't know ... CALL AND CHECK ON HIM?!" The Alpha roars the question, every beta in the room squirming in discomfort as Derek's emotions broadcast to them through the pack connection. Isaac quickly scoots further from Scott, trying to distance himself from the Alpha's anger. Scott casts him a betrayed look, before swallowing heavily.

"There's no reason to check, I'm sure he's fine, Derek. If there's a problem or he isn't gonna show, he'll give one of us a call. Calm down." A collective groan travels through the Pack at those words, Derek's eyes narrowing into dangerous, serpentine slits of rage.

"In the history of the words calm down being used, have they ever actually worked, McCall??" Derek snarls slow and steady, making damn sure the foolish little Pup gets the full brunt of his current anger. "You are such a potato!" The Alpha straightens, arms crossing petulantly before himself as he turns and takes up his spot of general looming once more. Some part of him is trying to rationalize that if Scott isn't worried about Stiles, none of the rest of them should be, either. After all, every one knows that Stiles has a habit of calling Scott ten thousand times if he's in trouble, rather than have the smart idea of calling one of the rest of the Pack. You know, the ones that actually leave their phones on and -bother- to respond!!

The fact that Stiles still expects the one he calls Best Friend to be there for him, speaks of the depths of the teen's sense of loyalty. Even when it is not returned. It pains Derek, to know this. Because deep down, there is a desperate need, a burning, fiery need, to be one of those that inspires such loyalty in the brave human. 

"If anything has happened to him, I'm holding you responsible, McCall."

"Yeah, sure sure." Scott mumbles under his breath before he quickly moves to find a better place to hide. I mean, sit. Because Scott McCall doesn't respect or fear Derek Hale, so there is no reason for him to be hiding. None. At. All.

Derek rolls his eyes almost as an after thought as he stealthily tries to move to one of the windows, so that he can watch the road leading up to the house. Forget the fact that he will be able to hear Stiles coming long before he sees him, the human instincts just need something to stare at to keep from getting too worked up with worry over his friend. 

The sound of fingers tapping at a cellphone distracts him from his broody staring. He glances over his shoulder in time to see Jackson squinting down at his phone, a look trapped somewhere between concerned and amused on his face. The last one any of the pack would expect to seek out Stiles would be the lacross player. Derek knows better, though. After the incident with the Kanima, the two grew strangely close in a quiet, Bro kinda way.

To the point that Derek is no longer surprised to find them texting each other ... while in the same room. Usually no more than a few feet away. In fact, it amuses the hell out of him, even if he has never commented on it. It never fails to wrestle a little bit of a smile from him when he realizes what's going on.

Jackson glances covertly at his phone, shoves it into his pocket, and leans back in his chair. After a moment of hesitancy, his arms fold over his chest and he struggles not to scowl at something. That doesn't settle well with the Alpha, for obvious reasons. If the jock had anything positive to add to the situation, he wouldn't keep it to himself. Not with how on edge everyone is feeling at the moment. So, it can't be good. Damn it.

"Jack ..." Jackson's head swivels in Derek's direction, eyes wide and almost challenging for a split second before he calms himself. He sucks in a silent breath, and manages a faint shake of his head in Derek's direction.

"Still no word from him, Derek. He hasn't answered any calls or texts for the past two hours." Jackson bites at his bottom lip, nipping and nibbling nervously at the lump of flesh as he stares down at his crossed arms. He is vibrating with concern and that ever present anger that never quite goes away. No matter how hard Derek and the Pack have tried to help ground him, Jackson has never been able to fully let it go. 

_I am not worried. I am not worried in the **least**_. This is the mantra currently playing through Derek's mind. If Jack hadn't heard from Stiles, it is officially time to start panicking. The teen is incapable of maintaining -any- kind of silence for two hours. If he isn't talking, he's texting like mad. This is bad. Very bad. He bites the inside of his mouth, wincing slightly when the coppery tang of blood floods his tongue. Thankfully, it heals instantly, giving him time to calm down and try to filter his thoughts. 

There is no threat in town. Derek must remind himself of this fact. There are no threats, supernatural or otherwise, that could be the cause of Stiles not being here. The Pack has done it's due diligence to make sure that nothing dangerous lingers. So then, why does he have this gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach!? 

"This is the fifth call, Stilinski. If you don't answer your damn phone, I am going to break it into a million pieces. Good luck explaining that to your Dad. Again!" Jackson hisses into his phone before ending the call and slapping the device against his thigh. Derek is doing his damnedest not to eavesdrop, but he can't really help or stop himself. He's worried. There is absolutely no reason for him to be worried, but he is. His insides are churning, there's a thin sheen of sweat across his skin, and he knows that his breathing is not on par. Were he not a silent breather by nature, every beta in the room would know that he was breathing wrong. Thank the moon for born skill! 

"FFS, Stiles! If you are bailing on me tonight, I will never talk to you again. I mean it! I will erase you from my phone, ignore you in school, and .. and ... make you sit by McCall at every meeting!" Jackson is practically snarling into the phone twenty minutes later, when he still hasn't heard back from the other teen. Derek's eyes narrow, a growl building in his chest, though he manages to swallow it down. What kind of **plans** would Stiles and Jackson have on Pack night!? Because that would basically mean leaving, and no one ever leaves the night of a meeting. Everyone Round Robins until their parents believe they are safe and sound at a friend's home, so that they could spend the night here. What kind of plans, with the whiny Jackson, would trump that?? 

He is not pouting, okay! He's just ... annoyed and curious. That's it. 

"Jack!" The Alpha barks at the Beta, causing him to jump and look almost guilty as he lifts his gaze to meet Derek's. "Just what exactly did you and Stiles have planned for tonight?" He affects an air of indifference, but inside he's twisting up even further. Because there should be no plans that would drag Stiles from a pack meeting, no matter who it's with. Jackson ducks his head, instantly unable to meet the older man's eyes as he squirms a little in his seat. 

"We, uhm .. well, I mean ... we were ..." He stumbles across his words pathetically, fingers reaching up to press against his closed eyes as he forces himself to man up and stop being afraid of his Alpha. "We have plans to meet Danny around 11 to grab a bite to eat and hang out. He's been feeling left out lately, and Stiles decided we should spend some time with him." Danny? Derek wracks his brain, frowning a little as he tries to place the name. He remembers ... a computer ... Stiles calling him Miguel .... and changing several shirts in front of the drooling younger man. His eyes widen, his mouth falls open just a bit. Right. The lacrosse player with the technical know-how and a preference for men. Damn it! He sucks in a desperate breath to cut off the roar/growl building inside. There is no reason for him to be upset at the fact that Stiles was going to ditch him ( **THEM** ) to spend time with a cute, interesting gay teen that every one found adorable and likeable and that may or may not have a crush on Stiles.

"Since when are Danny and Stiles friends?" The words aren't sarcastic or mean, but begrudgingly curious. When did the two find time to become friends, let alone the inclination? The few times he heard Stiles mention Danny to Scott, it seemed as if the popular kid didn't care for him at all. So, what had changed? 

"Since ... I don't really know." It sounds as if it hurts Jackson to admit that, and it probably does. He has such a strange obsession with everything involving his best friend, that it doesn't surprise Derek that not knowing something has irked the teen. "I mean, Danny has had a thing for Stiles since middle school, but they were never really friends." Derek absolutely does **_NOT_** have to force his mouth closed tight to hide the popping of his fangs. Because it would be absurd for his fangs to pop in jealousy over the thought of Danny having a crush on Stiles and spending time with him. "They worked on projects whenever they were paired together, but Danny pretty much just pined from a distance, no matter how many times I told him to just forget Stiles." Jackson shifts uncomfortably, a little bit of a pale pink blush playing at the edges of his cheeks. "You know, that was before I really got to know him. Now .. well, he and Danny would be a really great couple, but I'm not sure Danny is really ready to broach the subject yet. Anyway, they've been hanging out a lot the past three months." 

Derek's hand flies to his face, palm pressed hard against his thinned lips as he struggles not to roar, snarl, or just peel back his lips and bare his fangs for all and sundry to see. Because Danny has a thing for Stiles and has been hanging out with him for **THREE** months and Derek is **JUST NOW** finding out about it! The salty copper flavor of blood floods his tongue again, fangs nicking cheeks and lips and he swallows the horrible, tangy taste down. 

"Oh." The only word he can force past his fangs without giving away the unusual situation his body is struggling through at the moment. His control is ironclad, has been for so many years now! It feels as if his body is personally betraying him as the bonds of control slip away over the theoretical situation between two humans that he has no claim to. Danny is a vaguely perceived stranger inherited on his periphery through his acquaintance with Jackson, and Stiles is something akin to a begrudging friend. Neither of these two states of being lend themselves to Derek having any right to feel .... damn it, to feel _**jealous**_. And yet, there it is. Sitting like a leaden stone in his gut, burning embers and acidic pain that he cannot fight against despite how hard he's trying to. 

"... are you okay?" Jackson's out of the blue bout of actual concern adds to the surreal nature of the moment, and Derek can do little more than nod. Because a werewolf cannot detect a lie from a movement, the heart doesn't change course when you nod, not like it would if he had said yeah, he's fine. Every werewolf in the room would've heard that for the lie it is. He feels the sharp pinprick pressure of his fangs retracting and he manages to breathe a little easier when he realizes that his body is finally responding to his desperate pleas for it to calm the hell down. "Alright. Well, I'll give 'im another twenty minutes, then I'll sniff his sorry ass out. He better have a damn good excuse for bailing on me, or I'm gonna rip his Jeep a new one, and then laugh as he bawls like a bitch." Jackson continues on with his colorful commentary, inventing all kinds of ways he will make Stiles pay, though the threats are so obviously empty that it's almost adorable to hear him trying to fool everyone. Almost. 

Derek shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot before turning back to stare out the window. He shouldn't be doing this. He knows that. This is the very thing Stiles is always teasing him about. His 'creeperwolf' tendencies, as the spastic teen calls it. Some self-aware part of him knows that Stiles is right. That he's a creeperwolf, a failwolf, a sourwolf, and every other stupid, silly, amusing wolf-descriptive he can come up with. The fact that he wants to sneak out and go for a run, that he wants to basically shove his nose into the air and sniff the whole of Beacon Hills to locate his wayward packmate pretty much just proves every stalker-ish joke Stiles has ever made about him to be true, but he really just can't help himself.

It would be easy to say that it's "the wolf" that is acting this way. That the hints of possessiveness hiding in him are because of the wolf trying to be protective of his packmate. It would be a lie. A terrible, horrible lying lie! Because Derek knows. Yes, the wolf instinct is going a little crazy because it doesn't know where Stiles is, but for the most part, it is all just him. He, as a person, is worried over his friend, and yes, it is reaching .... -really- overblown proportions, but it isn't something he can just get over. It is not a behavior he can just -drop- because he knows he should.

****_"The worst is over now and we can breathe again_  
I want to hold you high, and steal my pain away  
There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight  
I want to hold you high and steal your pain 

****_'Cause I'm broken when I'm open_  
And I don't feel like I am strong enough  
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome  
And I don't feel right when you're gone away" 

Broken, by Seether, featuring Amy Lee, rips through the room and Derek will never admit it, but he jumps in surprise before promptly whirling around to face Jackson. Because he -knows- that ringtone. The asshole teen had assigned it to Stiles for reasons none of the Pack could fathom. Though, most had their own silent little theories.

Scott, Lydia, Allison, and Erica have their own versions of the same theory; Jackson does it to screw with the human that has always been viewed as a bit of an outsider.

Danny, is, of course, the most likely to have a theory closest to the truth, given his deep friendship with the douche jock. However, the most he has ever said is that he thinks Jack and Stiles understand each other and the song is merely a reflection of that. (He always sounds so sad and distant when he speaks of the weird friendship. It is obvious he is jealous, but it's almost impossible to pin point who or what Danny is jealous of. Though, with Jackson's admission of pining, it's maybe not so hard, anymore.) 

Isaac simply says that Stiles is important to the Pack, so it only makes sense that Jackson has warmed up to him. (Of course, these days, it is impossible for Isaac to grasp the idea that there are people out there still incapable of loving their packmate.)

Boyd ... well, Boyd does what he always does. He shrugs his shoulders and keeps out of it. There's a reason he is often Derek's favorite, after all. He knows the appropriate times to engage in pack business, and the times to stay out of everyone's way. Unfortunately, it means that he cannot go to the most level headed one to try and understand personal situations, as Boyd may be the only one more socially awkward than himself. Which is almost frightful.

"Dude ... I mean DUDE! You are -NOT- going to believe what happened, Jack!" Stiles' voice is higher pitched and faster paced than usual. Jackson actually winces, glad that he hadn't been trying to focus his hearing beyond human levels with the way that Stiles is currently speaking. "Oh my GOD, Jack! I can't -even-! I mean ... this can't be -real-! Well, like, I -know- it's real dude, because I was **-THERE-** but dude, it is totally unbelievable! This is a once-in-a-lifetime, how the hell did this happen to me, holy cow, my life wasn't even in danger, kinda thing, man!" Stiles finally pulls in a breath, holds it for a second, and cuts Jackson off before he can actually try to comment. 

"Please tell me that Derek hasn't started the threatening while rounding up a search party thing yet? I'm not in trouble or anything."

"THEN WHY THE HELL AREN'T YOU HERE?!" Derek roars before he can stop himself, hearing the yelp, gasp of breath, and jackrabbit beat of Stiles' heart when he hears the irate Alpha.

"Jack! Tell Derek to calm the hell down! If he keeps hollering he's going to set --" Stiles yelps suddenly, the sound of his cellphone being jostled coming through before a booming voice takes over the call.

"Who DARES to speak so harshly to my brother?! Stiles! What fool roars at you!?" A strange, boisterous voice cuts Stiles off, the teen eeping softly as he struggles to get his phone back.

"STILES!!" Derek launches himself at Jackson, who growls and then yips in confusion when his Alpha wrestles the phone from his hands. The sound of the plastic creaking makes the beta wince, but he doesn't dare reach for it. No, it would be stupid to come between his Alpha and something he's so intent on. That would be the best way to lose a limb! "What the hell is going on? Who is that in the background?? If you've bailed on us for some guy, so help me!!"

"Oh my god, just .. don't, Derek. It's not ... okay, it -is- like that, but not in the way you think!" Stiles voice begins as a groan and ends on a gasp as his phone is pulled away again.

"What coward threatens a man over the phone, Derek of Beacon Hills? My identity is not of import! How dare you speak this way to a friend?! Stiles, is this the Alpha you spoke of? I fail to hear anything great beyond his ridiculous roar." The foreign voice scoffs, and Derek can feel himself changing a little. Fangs and claws out, eyes blood red in anger and frustration, even the sprouting of fur on his face as he struggles for control. Whoever this stranger is, he wants nothing more than to tear his heart out with his claws and present it to Stiles. Maybe as a warning. (Probably as an offering, though he's not about to admit that if he doesn't have to.)

"Stiles. Get. This. Idiot. Off. The. Phone." The Alpha bites the words out, snuffling and snarling, the phone screen cracking minutely. "And tell me what the hell is going on before I sniff you out and kick your ass." He adds the insult on for good measure, trying desperately to find his way back to familiar ground. Their banter back and forth is comfortable and reassuring. He can already feel himself beginning to return to normal. Shaking off the transformation as he waits for an answer.

"Gimme the phone, brother." Stiles is exasperated, but at the same time, there is a steely thread of command in the words, and the stranger apparently acquiesced because in the next moment, Stiles is speaking loud and clear. "Calm down, Fido. If you get that nose anywhere near me, I'm shoving wolfsbane so far down your throat you'll be tasting it for weeks, buddy." Derek smirks, despite himself, no matter how hard he struggles to keep it at bay. He blinks rapidly, seeing the world in normal hues once more, relaxing his hold on the phone. "And do -not- call my boy an idiot again, or it will be the same result, I don't care if you're my Alpha or not, man." Derek's eyes widen a fraction and he cannot stop his body from reacting to being called Stiles Alpha. He automatically stands up straighter, preening a little bit at the labeling. He hadn't even felt this warm and proud when Scott had finally gotten over himself enough to acknowledge him as Alpha. 

"Stiles." He prompts, voice deep and demanding. 

"Right. Right. So, I didn't set out to skip the meeting or anything, Derek. I swear. I was on my way to the house when things went cray-cray, okay?" Derek hears him suck in a breath, hears the slight elevation of his heartbeat even as the phone jostles a little bit. "I .. ugh, I can't even explain right now. Because this is one of those weird things that you probably won't believe unless we're face to face and I have proof. Though even then, I'm pretty sure you won't believe a word of it." He can hear the faint slide of skin across skin, and it takes him a moment to realize that Stiles is running his hand down his face in frustration. "So, we're on our way over. See you in a few." Stiles hangs up before Derek can say anything else, leaving the Alpha scowling at the cellphone in his hand. He turns to hold it out to Jackson, frowning. 

"I'll buy you a new one." He doesn't apologize, because an Alpha does -not- apologize unless absolutely necessary, and Jackson will never rank that. "Just ... whatever." He mutters, though he knows the majority of the room will be able to hear him. He turns on his heel and stalks back toward the window. Leaning against the sill as he waits, impatiently, for Stiles to show up and explain the insanity that this day is turning into.

* * *

Stiles sits in his jeep, staring off into the distance. Were he to turn his head to the right, he would be able to see his traveling companion. Were he to look to the left, he would see the porch leading up to the door of Hale House. He doesn't turn either way. Instead, he chooses to let his hearing strain for any sign that his packmates are within visual of his current situation. 

Unfortunately, his hearing is achingly, painfully -HUMAN- and he knows that it means very little that he can hear nothing more than breathing, the creaking of his jeep cooling, and very faint creaks from inside the house. Which could be anything from one of the pack mauling the couch, to the wood of the house settling or something. Basically, it means that his hearing is worth nothing and every member of the pack could be watching them from the windows or something. Because this is his freakin' life. 

"Stiles?" His companion's voice is surprisingly soft, despite the over-the-top boisterous nature he is known to exhibit. But it still cuts through the silence and causes him to jump a little bit. He finally turns, eyes wide and nearly comical as he stares the man down. 

"Yeah. Hi. I mean, yeah, I'm fine. Just, like .. gimme a minute, dude. Because this ... man, this could go sooo many ways. Just, please remember what I said, okay? I know he can be an idiot, and he can posture a lot and he'll probably want to snap his teeth and ask questions later, but be nice, okay? For me??" By the end of his rant, poor Stiles is basically begging and pleading with his friend. If this didn't go well, he's not sure what he would do. The last thing he would be able to survive is having to pick between his new friend and his Pack. He NEEDS this to go right!

".. fine. I promise to be on my best behavior, little brother. I will do my utmost to remain calm and civil." Stiles bites back a yelp when a massive hand connects with his shoulder in a bro-slap, nearly sending him flying back against his jeep door. He just barely manages to brace for impact, though he's wearing a massive, happy grin as well. "However, should he prove false in any way, I will do nothing short of my best to protect you, Stiles." There is a rough, promising truth to the words. In answer, Stiles reaches out and gives a bro-slap to his friend's bicep, grinning.

"I can roll with that, man. Lets go." He yanks his jeep door open, sliding out of the vehicle. He's a little surprised to realize that he's feeling far more confident than he has any real right to. He's literally walking into a Wolf's Den and he is feeling no fear. True, the wolves are his Pack, but still. There is always a chance of danger when you are a human that runs with the supernatural.

"Stiles!" The human jumps in surprise when he hears his name practically howled in a fit of rage. However, that rage is not coming from the werewolf he expected it to. Instead of looking up into Derek's angry, Alpha red eyes, he is staring into Jackson's glowing blue beta ones. "If I weren't sure it would scramble what little bit of brain you had left, I'd bitch slap your sorry ass into next week!" Stiles sheepishly ducks his head, dragging his hand down his chagrined features as he prepares to answer his irate friend.

"I am greatly disappointed, brother." His companion practically growls the words, all his giddy happiness drained away as he eyes Jackson standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch. Arms crossed angrily over his chest. "This ... creature ... is a grave disappointment. From the way you spoke so highly of your Alpha, I was expecting something ... well, **more**. He is nothing of what you spoke. Not as valiant, witty, or handsome as you claimed." Annnndddd .... Stiles is officially wishing for a natural disaster to end him. On the spot. He ducks his head even further, feeling the heat building up in his cheeks as he struggles to say something. Anything. Whatever words may actually difuse the situation.

"Okay, first off. I am all that and **more**. -ESPECIALLY- handsome, so check yourself." Jackson snarls the words, his arms tightening in their cross. As if he is somehow trying to keep himself at bay. "Secondly, there's been no chance for me to prove valiant or witty, so check yourself a second time, blondie. Thirdly ... Stiles! Derek ruined my phone, thanks to you. The next time you decide to ignore all of my texts, calls, and voicemails, will be the last! If you don't care enough to talk, fine. I'll gladly be through with you, Stilinski." Jackson sucks in a deep, quick breath, his features turning vaguely scarlet. "And LASTLY, I am NOT the Alpha, blondie. I'm a beta, same as Stiles." Jackson's words taper off into an almost whine as he finally stops to take in the situation. 

Namely, the fact that Stiles is standing in front of him with a freakin' Greek God looking man standing next to him. Protectively. The man is a pure wall of chiseled muscle that puts their Alpha to -shame-, with long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He's wearing 'work clothes' of well worn blue jeans and a denim button up shirt. And yet, there is something almost preternaturally otherworldly about the man. As if something all power is radiating out from him. Though he would never admit it, some part of Jackson wants to squirm closer and bask in that feeling. 

"The hell did you just say? Me, a BETA?" Stiles' voice has taken on a half hysterical quality, his sides hitching with barely suppressed laughter as he tries to figure out how that would work. How in the world would a -human- be a beta? There are so many laughable points about that statement, that he is already itemizing them. However, he barely has a chance to say anything before his friend is lunging at Jackson. 

"How dare you insult him!?" The blond roars in Jackson's face as he lifts him from the ground by the front of his shirt. "Blood of Fenrisúlfr be damned, I will aquatint you with the ground if you dare insinuate such a thing again!" The blond shakes Jackson for emphasis, causing Stiles to wince in sympathy toward his friend. 

"Please! Just stop! There is absolutely no reason to --- wait, blood of Fenrir? Oh, we are -so- gonna come back to that in a minute! But first, kindly put my friend down, brother, because he didn't mean to be insulting or anything. I'm sure, in his mind, it is a compliment to call a human a beta." Stiles reaches out, his fingers squeezing the man's bulging bicep strongly, trying to sooth him. But, because this is his life and how screwed up things are in it, the man becomes even angrier at Stiles' words. In fact, he shakes Jackson violently this time, causing the werewolf to actually whimper.

"How is it a compliment to label an Alpha a beta, Stiles??" The man's voice booms with agitated anger and near-disgust. Stiles' hand slackens and falls free of his bicep, his mouth hanging open in stunned surprise. Alpha?? Yeah, because there is any reality in which -that- makes sense. 

"If you don't release my packmate in the next three seconds, you're going to lose your head, though -nothing- is going to keep you from losing that arm." Derek's Alpha voice is in full swing as he comes barrelling out of the house. His eyes are burning pure red, his claws are out, and his teeth are pointed dangerously. There is even a spattering of fur on his cheeks. He's getting close to being fully wolfed out, and Stiles feels something snap in him. Because Jackson looks utterly terrified where he is -dangling in the air-, and his Alpha and his new friend are two seconds from throwing down. That is -not- going to happen.

So, as per usual, he takes a complete leave of absence of his senses and charges forward. One hand slaps against Derek's chest, putting himself between the irate Alpha and his friend. Which is even more moronic than putting himself between werewolves and danger. However, he knows that in a fight between these two ... well, his Alpha would get his ass handed to him in about two seconds. 

"Derek, stop! You are -not- going to charge into this claws blazing because it will -not- end well." Stiles snaps his head toward the blond, eyes narrowed dangerously. "And you! Release my friend right -now- or there will be hell to pay!" His amber eyes spark dangerously and to everyone's surprise, the stranger immediately settles the beta back on the ground .. and then gives Stiles an apologetic smile. 

"Forgive me, Stiles. I should not have manhandled your pack-brother, but neither should he have been so disrespectful of your status." The stranger takes the few steps toward him, reaching out to yank him into a full bodied hug that lifts the teen off the ground and jiggles him a bit. Stiles, for his part, just can't help himself. He bursts out into happy laughter, wiggles an arm free of the all encompassing hug, and slaps his friend on the back.

"Eh, all is forgiven, man. I mean, we've all wanted to manhandle Jackson in a bad way at least once. You ain't special." The indignant grunt from his packmate is totally worth it! He finally manages to climb out of the bigger man's arms and turns to look at the pack, who had filed out to fan out around Derek when he charged out to help Jackson. He takes the few steps that puts him in front of Jackson, grinning a blindly fond grin. "You okay, bud?" Jackson merely nods, a petulant pout in place before he moves to join the rest of the Pack.

"Stiles .." Erica's voice cuts through the forming tension and causes him to spin toward her, a brow quirked. "Is that .. I mean, there's like no way in -hell- it can be, but, uhm .. is that THOR?!" Stiles cannot even -begin- to hide the huge grin as he nods enthusiastically. Because of -course- his gorgeous Catwoman would recognize one of the greatest Superheroes known to man! God, he can still remember the first time he saw the Avengers in all their glory. If he hadn't already been well aware of his bisexual nature, Thor's muscles, Captain America's -EVERYTHING- and Hawkeye's hands would've confirmed it real quick.

"Yes, indeedy! Pack oh mine, let me introduce the Asgardian God known as Thor." He turns his beaming, almost worshipful gaze up, toward the taller, stronger man. "Thor, this is my pack." He introduces his packmates one by one, humming happily to himself after each introduction. 

Of course, he saves the 'best' for last. Though he can't actually say why he thinks of it that way, beyond the fact that it is a saying. 

"Thor, I would like you to meet my Alpha, Derek Hale." He glances at the older man who is standing so close that their shoulders are pressed faintly together. Though Derek has reverted to his crossed arms, openly intense glaring state of days past. Thor, meanwhile, is wearing a smirk that is hard to read, though his eyes are sharp and aware as ever. He is watching every minute movement the Alpha is making. "Alpha Hale, I present my brother Thor, Asgardian and Avenger." The two men continue to stare each other down, and in the end, the only real acknowledgement is a mutual nod in each other's direction, before Derek turns his red-eyed gaze onto him. As per usual these days, Stiles doesn't wither or cower under that gaze. There's no hint of fear or anything, just the usual sense of equal footing that the human feels around the Alpha these days.

"Stiles. What the hell did you do this time? What trouble could you -possibly- get into, in BEACON HILLS, that put you in the path of an -Avenger-!?" Stiles flinches at the angry growl his Alpha gives him, wishing he could say that it wasn't his fault. That he had been minding his own business. Sure, it's true, but in the end, he had chosen to interfere in something dangerous and he -knows- that the truth is going to make his Alpha all kinds of angry, but oh well. He is what and who he is, and Derek can just deal with it.

"It wasn't my fault, Derek." He huffs softly, turning to look at Thor. Who is wearing a less than happy expression. Because, you know, Derek is implying something less than perfect about his brother. "I was on my way here, and I heard something. So ... I maybe ... went into the Preserve .. to investigate." He groans, because he can see a vein throbbing in Derek, Jackson, **-and-** Scott's foreheads and he can just imagine them all going off on him. Even Isaac has begun to creep closer, trying to get to Stiles without Thor or Derek noticing. Bless his precious Pup! 

"Brother." Thor suddenly speaks up, causing every werewolf except Derek to jump. Stiles is rather proud of himself for not being all that surprised when the Asgardian speaks. "We should move this inside. You need to sit down." Before he can protest, Thor's hand has migrated to the small of his back and he's being guided into the house and carefully manhandled onto the couch. Thor plops down on his right side, and Isaac and Jackson all but wrestle each other to end up at his left side. Isaac wins, sticking his tongue out at Jackson as he nestles into the human's side. After a moment, the other werewolf drops right onto the floor, leaning his back against Stiles' knees and nearly purring with contentment when the human absently runs his fingers through his hair.

Scott, Lydia, Boyd, and Erica settle onto the other couch, and Derek growls, but manages to settle into his chair. Sitting on the very edge of it. Stiles assumes it's so that the Alpha can lunge at him and wring his neck when this story goes south. As everyone knows it will, because Stiles is involved.

"Stiles." Derek prompts, and Stiles can do little more than glare at him over the distance. He can feel Isaac's hand snaking around his bicep, can feel Thor gently knocking into his shoulder and both actions calm him so wonderfully. It seems, he has become one hell of a tactile creature since joining the Pack.

"Right. Okay." He exhales slowly and with purpose. Clearing his lungs and his mind before he looks right up and into his Alpha's eyes. "So, it goes like this ... I was running a few minutes late, and when I turned down the road to head here, I saw this bright light flash over the Preserve. It reminded me of something that happened when I was 7. I went into this room with a functioning Tesla Coil and it made my skin tingle, my hair stand on end, and my teeth ache!" When Derek scowls, the teen shakes his head and offers up a sheepish smile. "Anyway! So, I drove into the Preserve and followed the light, and when I got there, Thor was pinned down by these really funky looking alien dudes." 

In a move that is in no way shocking, Derek has begun to growl. In fact, had begun about the time Stiles said he went to the Preserve after seeing a bright light. The growl is not subtle, stealthy, or in any way sub vocal. He's basically mimicking a pissed off Doberman, growling and flashing his fangs. Stiles continues on as if this is a daily occurrence. (Hint, hint: it totally is!)

"Little Brother is correct. I found myself pinned by opposing forces. It is uncommon for me to become so encumbered, but I was without Mjöllnir." Derek doesn't even bother acknowledging that Thor has spoken. His eyes are still trained on Stiles, the not so subtle growl still reverberating through him. 

"Yeah, so there were about 8 of these nasty alien things pinning Thor down. So, I decided that a tried and true method should be employed."

"... you ran them over with your Jeep, didn't you?" Jackson actually winces a little as he says this, some vague, half-buried memory of having the same done to him surfacing. And yet, there is also a note of exasperated amusement in his voice, which is why Stiles flashes his friend a sheepish smile and nods. 

"I ran the assholes over with my jeep! Managed to take out three of them and free Thor. He then managed the other five." When he glances over, Thor is actually beaming at him. He reaches up to clap Stiles on the shoulder, making the teen yelp, but making him smile even brighter as well. "Sorry, what took so long was that we had to hide the bodies. The -last- thing we need is Dad having to work overtime with an investigation that could draw any number of Multi-lettered organizations down on Beacon Hills. So yeah, that's why I'm late, and how I met freaking **_Thor_**!"

"And how we became brothers, Stiles! Anyone so willing to jump into the fray against an unknown adversary to help a complete stranger is worthy of my friendship and brotherhood. It takes much bravery, loyalty, and an exceptional heart for a human to risk so much. I am glad that I have had the honor of knowing you, Stiles Stilinski." The human practically beams with pride and happiness at being recognized in such a way, cheeks glowing with a fair red blush. However, when he realizes that Derek has gone completely quiet, he glances over and recoils. Because his Alpha is no longer growling, but neither are his features readable. Stiles can feel a sense of cold dread settling deep in his gut, and on instinct, Isaac and Thor press closer to his sides, while Jackson leans back against his legs so that he can lay his head in Stiles lap. The human immediately feels comforted, but not 100% okay, yet.

"Thank you, Thor. I am honored to call you brother." The two exchange pleasant smiles and the growling resumes almost immediately after. 

"Right." Derek barks the single word with so hard to parse emotion before he pushes himself to his feet. So that he is looming over those sitting in the room. Stiles recognizes it, of course, as the Alpha tactic that it is, and a part of him wants to rebel. Wants to stand up and stare Derek down. "Stiles, you and Thor can leave. Every one else, get comfortable. Isaac, you're in charge of the movie. I don't want any of this Romcom bullshit tonight." The Alpha walks right past Stiles, an obvious dismissal, and Stiles cannot help but wither where he sits. When he feels Isaac's hand grip his, he gives a single squeeze and then lets go. He doesn't want the Pup to get in trouble sticking up for him. 

"It's okay, Pup. Go pick a movie." They would all over look the fact that beyond the horrible copy of The Notebook, every other DVD here is actually his. He carefully steps around Jackson, feeling Thor shadow him as he heads for the door.

"Yo, wait up, Stilinski. We've still got plans tonight." Jackson calls out, that ever present smirk somehow reassuring to the human. Thor glances between the two of them, his own grin in place.

"Where are we going, lads?" Stiles reaches out to pat Thor on the back, before he slides his arm through a scowling Jackson's. 

"We're going to meet our friend Danny to grab some food and stuff. He's gonna lose his -mind- when he meets you! You're his second favorite Avenger!" At the word second, Thor's grin turns into a sexy scowl, and Stiles cannot help but snicker.

"And who is his first?? I will show this Danny that I am far better than that!" Jackson and Stiles exchange knowing smiles, and Stiles reaches his free hand out to squeeze one of Thor's massive biceps.

"... It's Captain America, dude." There is a single moment of silence, before Thor sighs heavily and nods knowingly.

"This Danny has chosen wisely. He is even **my** favorite." The three leave the house laughing, ignoring the fact that Derek is trying to stare a hole in their backs as they leave.


	2. Birds of a Feather

* * *

"Stiles." The calling of his name takes him by surprise. He nearly fumbles the comic book he's looking at, right onto the floor. By some miracle, he manages to put it back on the rack before he turns toward the voice that had been calling out to him. He then promptly chokes on his own tongue because HAWKEYE is strolling across the store, toward him. True, he's dressed down in jeans and a tee shirt covered over by a dark brown hoodie, with mirrored sunglasses, but come on. It's obviously -Hawkeye-, because it's not like he wears a mask or anything to obscure his 'secret' identity. 

And did he mention that he's walking -right toward him-!? And knows his name!! 

"Can I help you, Mr. Barton?" That's right, Stiles can play this cool! He carefully crosses his arms over his chest, wearing a detached facade despite the fact that he's feeling hot, jittery, and overwhelmed inside. 

"Huh. Thor said you were a smart, brave kid. Gotta say, I didn't fully believe him." Stiles can feel one of his eyebrows shoot up judgmentally and his first thought is that he has spent -way- too much time with Derek if he's now emoting with his eyebrows.

"Uh-huh. I almost dread to ask what all he said about me." After a moment of hesitation, he unfurls an arm so that he can hold a hand out to Hawkeye. Who grins, warm and surprisingly disarming, before he yanks his shades off with one hand, and shakes Stiles' hand with the other.

"Yeah, you probably don't want to ask. I honestly think he's about two seconds from waxing poetic about you, kid." This time, both brows shoot up toward his hairline, and his mouth falls open in gaping surprise. Which makes the Avenger laugh, squeeze his hand, and then finally let go. "Gotta say, it made his order a little more palatable, because I won't lie, I'm curious about you." This is the part where Stiles finds himself wondering if Jackson has stationed a hidden camera somewhere to get back at him for ... something. Who knows what! Because there's no way that he's lucky enough to get to meet -two- Avengers in a few weeks! 

"What, exactly, did my overbearing big brother -order- you to do, Mr. Barton?" He pulls away and ends up shoving both hands into his pockets as he stares Hawkeye down.

"Oh, wow. So, you -do- both call each other brother? I -really- wasn't expecting that. I'm not all that surprised that Thor gave you that title, because he's odd and old-school Godling like that. But you call him brother, too? That's a trip, kid." Something in Stiles shifts, his teeth peeling back slightly in anger as he regards the older man.

"First off .. of -course- I do. If a man calls you brother, you owe him the same courtesy back! Secondly, you didn't answer my question. What did he ask you to do?"

"Oh, right, that. He asked me to train you. Because, and I quote, 'Little brother is a good soul with a protective heart and he has a habit of jumping into the middle of things to save those that need saving. Hawkeye, you will be so kind as to instruct my little brother in the ways of combat, that he may excel in helping others.' And well, when an Asgardian God asks you to do something .. well, you kinda got to do it. Plus it was fun watching Cap'n squirm and pout that -he- wasn't asked. It really is a glorious sight, when Steve starts poutin'. Anyway. So, I'm here to train you up. Come along, little man."

There is about a 46% chance that his brain has just short circuited and that he is in dire need of a hard reboot. Because it sounds an -awful- lot like Clint Barton just told him that THOR demanded HAWKEYE train him. Oh, and that CAPTAIN AMERICA had his poor feelings hurt because -HE- wasn't asked to do it. Stiles sways where he stands, eyes still saucer wide, breath coming in short little puffs.

"Huh. Did I break you, kid?" Stiles snaps out of it then, manages to reboot straight into a sense of anger as he blinks a few times and narrows those sharp eyes at the older man. 

"Call me kid one more time, -old man- and I'm sure training isn't going to go very well." He drawls the words out, making Hawkeye draw up short a little bit. His eyes remain unreadable, but the corner of his mouth ticks up a bit and it is a strange kind of victory that Stiles wasn't expecting, but he'll sure as hell take it. (This victory feels as important as all the little victories when he manages to make Derek crack even a pretense of a smile.)

"Okay, then. Stiles it is. And you can call me Clint. Lets go." The older man about faces and walks out of the store, Stiles hesitating for a moment before eagerly following after him. It's not every day a nobody like him gets the chance to train with an Avenger, after all!!

* * *

"Oh my god ... oh my god ... OH MY GOD!!" Stiles is whooping like a madman, practically prancing at the back end of the motorcycle he has just exited. His hands are running reverently over the seat even as he bounces on the balls of his feet. "Getting one. I am -so- getting one! I will even make Scott ride bitch!" He cackles madly, actually throwing his head back to make the action as over the top and entertaining as possible. No matter how hard Clint seems to be struggling against the action, his lips twist into a surprisingly fond smile. It had taken only a few minutes of the teen's presence to understand why Thor had latched onto him almost instantly. There's something overwhelmingly -good- about the teen that seems to draw people in with little effort.

"Yeah, right! You tripped twice just trying to get -on- the motorcycle, Stiles. How the hell are you going to be able to hold it up?" Stiles mouth opens. Once .. twice .. three times before he huffs an exaggerated breath.

"Just don't -even- try and bring your damn logic into this, birdboy!" He chuffs and reaches up to run his hands across his head, finally stopping to take in their surroundings. "If I want to daydream about owning something this awesome and what not, you will -not- spoil it for me, damn it!" He knows that he's whining, but he can't help it. 

"What? Just get your boyfriend to buy one." Stiles draws up short, head swiveling around so quick that his shoulders make a soft pop as he stares the superhero down.

"Yeah, sure, I'll move that -right- to the top of my list. Right behind acquiring said boyfriend, dude." The Avenger reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, sending Stiles a look that can only be described as exasperated. At least, he assumes, since the man is wearing his shades again. "Now. You do realize that this is, like, the most cursed spot in the Preserve, right? All the bad things happen in this area when bad things happen."

"... you are so annoyingly endearing, kid. Honestly, there should be an award or something. Maybe a trophy. I doubt you got many of those, huh?" Stiles narrows his eyes at the man, and something must shift in his features because Clint is suddenly standing a little straighter, a little more at attention. 

"What do I need trophies for? I'm literally the second smartest kid in my -entire- High School. I have an IQ you probably couldn't reach with a ten foot pole. Oh, and I've survived more supernatural shit than you could shake a stick at, -without- military training. So yeah, no trophies ... what about you?" His words are cutting, biting, and Hawkeye actually grins. Not a smirk, a twitch of the lips, or a bare raising of the sides of his mouth. An actual, respectful, warm smile.

"Touche. Right, then. We're going to start with .. you guessed it! A bow." He reaches out to open the bag on the side of his motorcycle, pulling to highly advanced, collapsible bows out. He quickly forms them into shape, holding one out to Stiles. The human wrinkles his nose but carefully tugs at the string, testing the weight of it.

"I'm gonna be black and blue by the end of this. Just saying." And yet, there is no hint of him backing out or trying to worm his way out of this. Clint actually grins brighter and nods.

"Yeah, more than likely, and if Thor finds out it's going to be a bitch explaining it to him. But come on, we'll cross that bridge later. Because there's no way in hell there -won't- be a bridge later." They exchange amused looks before Clint grabs out his quiver of arrows and heads a little further into the surprisingly open copse of trees, Stiles following eagerly behind him. Because even if he knows that this is likely to end in very manly tears and his body hating him, he is NOT passing up the chance to train with Hawkeye. In fact, nothing short of a pissed off werewolf would be prying this bow out of his hand anytime soon!

* * *

"Okay. So. We're going to start with still targets, because I've seen the way you flail, kid. The last thing I need is you elbowing your own eye out trying to track a target." Stiles huffs as loudly as he possibly can, trying his best to refrain from sassing the highly capable Avenger taking time out of his day to help. (This will not end well. Holding his sass back that long is going to result in him word vomiting and probably managing to insult Clint five ways to Sunday.)

"Aww, it's so sweet that you care, Old Man! It's like having a second Dad or something." Oh, wait. So much for holding the sass back! Clint just grins and moves so that he can make a grab for Stiles bow, and the older man actually yelps in surprise when Stiles growls and yanks the bow out of reach. At least the teen has the good grace to blush as he hastily holds the weapon out to him. 

"Oh, wow. You have -definitely- been running with wolves too long, Stiles." The teen blushes deeper and mutters something too low to be heard before Clint takes the bow. On instinct, he tests the string as well before he takes up a starter position with it, string pulled back. "Okay, start with your feet planted like this. When you go to raise the bow, rotate your elbow straight. It helps you naturally line up the shot." Stiles quickly copies the position, practices raising his elbow correctly, making a soft Huh sound before Clint turns to hand him the weapon back.

"Right, that's it. Though, wait. Ugh." He huffs an annoyed sigh and moves up behind Stiles. Seriously, how the teen could mess up what should be such a natural movement is beyond him! But then, he pictures the flailing and the uneven steps despite completely even ground and it doesn't seem like such a mystery any more. "Here .. move your hip .." Stiles manages, by the grace of GOD not to yelp or gasp when Clint's hand grabs at his hip to coax it to move the way he wants it to. 

How is this his life!?

"Right. And now, try and straighten your core." The hand suddenly snakes across his stomach and he curls his lips under, so that he can bite almost viciously at them to cut off the surprised moan he almost lets out. Instead, he is forcing himself to concentrate on tightening his stomach muscles, using the sensation to anchor him. To keep himself from thinking about the hot, heavy hand still pressed to his stomach. Or the fact that he can feel Clint's chin pressing slightly against his shoulder as the older man tries to sight the shot he is preparing to take. "Good. Just like that. Give it a try." 

The encouragement cuts through the sudden blossom of arousal that Stiles is feeling and he lets the arrow go. Almost instantly, he bursts into a happy whoop when the arrow embeds into the center of the target.

"Whoa! Okay, I gotta admit, I'm surprised kid. I thought for sure you were going to fumble dozens of times before you managed to get a half decent shot off, let alone hit it on your first go. Color me impressed, Stiles!" Clint's hand seems to flatten a little, pressing more against Stiles' abs and the teen is trying to picture every unflattering image he can to quell his rising arousal. In the end, thinking of Scott wolfed out and coming after him seems to cut right through the awkward situation, allowing him to relax a little bit.

"Yeah, you and me both, man. I was pretty sure that I was going to end up about five feet on either side, rather than anywhere near the target." He snorts derisively, and the hand on his stomach suddenly digs into the material of his shirt. Tugging at it, until the fingers are twisted up in the fabric.

"Hey. None of that BS now, Stiles. You were never going to miss by -that- much, even if I hadn't corrected your stance. You really need to lighten up on yourself." Stiles' throat clicks when he dry swallows, head bobbing ever so slightly in agreement to the words, if he believes them or not. At least the superhero doesn't have a natural lie detector like the werewolves do.

"Stiles!?" The sudden calling of his name causes him to jump and tense in surprise when he recognizes it. Clint must feel the apprehension oozing off of him, because by his next breath, Hawkeye has laid claim to the bow, nocked an arrow, and taken aim. Allison Argent gasps in surprise, her own bow half raised in self defense, but she must understand who she is facing, or at least, understand that they are faster with the weapon than she is.

Stiles finds himself taking a step closer to the Avenger, until he is partially behind Clint. He is taken completely by surprise when he feels Clint actually -leaning into him- in a protective stance. Sort of like one of the werewolves would stand if he were in danger. It warms him all over. Brings a bit of a reluctant smile to his lips, though he is eying the huntress warily.

"What is going on here, Stiles? Since when are you training to be a hunter? And who the hell is this? I don't recognize him. Is the .. the **Alpha** aware of the fact that you are out training like this?" She spits the word Alpha out bitterly, causing Stiles to flinch and step a little closer to Clint. Who's body stiffens, hand tightening on the bow as he eyes the teenage girl. 

"Yeah, I don't really recognize you either, Katniss. So, how about you lower your weapon all the way, and I won't have to shoot you in the face?" Stiles snorts before he can stop it, earning a wicked smirk from Clint, though the Avenger doesn't take his eyes off of Allison.

"Huh. And if I'm Katniss, who are you?"

"Legolas!" Both guys quip at the exact same moment, finding a moment of soulmate snark in one another, which only causes the huntress to roll her eyes.

"Cute. Now, how about you give me a -real- name and tell me what you're doing with my friend?" To this, Stiles eyes narrow and he forgets that Clint is, in essence, trying to protect him. He storms around the weapon-wielding superhero, growling a little as he eyes the teenage girl.

"Oh, we're friends, are we? Really? Because I -distinctly- remember you filling my -friends- full of arrows! Oh, and swearing to kill my Alpha, to boot. All because he saved your -boyfriend- from your -crazy ass mother-. So no, Allison, we are NOT friends. Hell, we were barely friends even when you were still dating my best friend! The others may have forgiven you, but I'm not ready to yet. They may consider you Pack, but ..." He can feel himself deflating. "And I guess I do, too, but I barely trust you, so there's no way we're friends." He murmurs the last bit, feeling himself beginning to sag. In the very next moment, he feels a back pressing to his chest and he doesn't even hesitate. He drapes himself against Clint, letting the stronger, older man take his weight.

"Well, given that Stiles just told you off remarkably, I think it's time for you to go, Katniss. Oh, and you want to know my name?" The Avenger allows his lips to curl into an almost predatory smile that makes Allison shiver slightly, her arrow withdrawn and put into her quiver. Because she knows, she has no chance of taking this man on. "You can call me Hawkeye. Only my friends know my real name. Ain't that right, kid?"

"Sure is, old man." Stiles quips tiredly back, not at all surprise when he feels Clint pressing that little bit more against him. Offering comfort, support, and safety. It reminds him of Derek.

"Right. Because -Stiles- knows Hawkeye." Allison laughs nervously, rolling her eyes, and Stiles can feel the heat searing his cheeks. Yeah, he gets it, he's an utter loser. He -really- doesn't need her to rub it in, okay? He drops his head, shocked to find that he actually has to lower his head to rest his forehead against Clint's shoulder. Huh, he's about an inch taller than the Avenger.

"Actually, yeah, he does. Hawkeye -and- Thor. In fact, Thor asked me to train Stiles up. Don't believe me? Go ahead, go google me. My face is everywhere, little girl. Now, walk away, because if Stiles gets any more tense, I'm grazing you with this arrow. Got it?" Allison's eyes narrow and then widen and she takes several steps back. 

"Right. Whatever. If you end up kidnapped again, I'll be sure to tell Scott to contact the Avengers, Stiles." She backs up slowly, until she's swallowed by the thicker treeline. Clint waits a full five minutes before he drops the bow and arrow and turns. Stiles finds himself enveloped in a gentle hug, and he sags against the man.

"Wow, that was hella tense, huh? Thanks for that, by the way. I will toss all manliness to the wind and say that I felt every bit like a damsel in distress in that moment." Clint snorts softly, squeezes the teen, and then carefully lets him go.

"Yeah, well, if you tell -anyone- that I hugged you, I'll accept Thor's wrath for turning you into a pincushion." Stiles throws his head back, gives a loud, jovial laugh even as he shakes his head. 

"You'll really have to do better than that, man. My Alpha threatens to rip my throat out with his **teeth**. And I'm only about ... 29% sure he -might- be joking when he says shit like that." Clint's eyes go wide for a moment, and then he makes a soft huh sound before shaking his head.

"And I thought listening to Banner and Stark promise bodily harm was harsh. He -actually- says things like that? Again, you're way more impressive than I first thought. I get why Thor is so protective." He grins suddenly, reaching up to clap Stiles on the shoulder. "Cap'n's gonna hate that he missed all of this. Alright, come on. Lets get back to it." 

Stiles forces himself to straighten up, nodding his agreement.

* * *

Two hours later, and Stiles is sore in every muscle he owns, but he can't stop -grinning-. Because somehow, the defenseless, skinny -human- has managed to thoroughly impress Hawkeye of the AVENGERS! He's also rather proud of himself! He managed to only miss three times. The two bows are on the ground, Hawkeye has an arm thrown over Stiles' shoulders, and they are sort of curled into each other laughing over something that the teen had said.

"STILES!?" The sudden growl of his name seems to have been conjured from the ether for how surreal it sounds. On instinct, he jumps away from Clint's hold, just as the Avenger yanks himself in front of the teen. Even without his bow, he is putting himself in a position to protect the human. 

Derek comes walking out of the same treeline that Allison had disappeared behind, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. Stiles would bet his beloved Jeep that it is to hide the fact that his claws are out on instinct. He cannot exactly pinpoint the moment he began to read his Alpha like an open book, but there it is.

"Heya, Derek. Fancy meeting you here. In the Preserve. On the edge of your property. Which isn't surprising .. in the least ...... damn it, Clint, I -told- you this spot was cursed! But did you listen to me?? Nooooo, you thought this was the -perfect- place for this! If I die from a ruptured jugular, -you- have to explain it to my Brother!" 

"Stiles!" This time, Clint is the one to growl the teen's name, calming him as best he can. "I am -not- going to let some overgrown mutt hurt you, okay? And to hell with Thor, kid." It takes a moment for Stiles to understand, but once it finally dawns, he is blushing profusely. He leans forward, and much as he had when Allison was here, he lays his forehead on Clint's shoulder and curls into his back for a moment.

"What the hell is going on here, Stiles?" Derek is seething, his eyes bleeding red though he has yet to pull out his fangs. He even manages to fish his clawless hands out of his jacket pockets so that he can cross his arms in front of himself. "Allison called Scott, who called me, to tell me that some bow and arrow wielding maniac, claiming to be Hawkeye, was holding you hostage in the woods? And I get here .. to find ... -this-!" The Alpha uncrosses his arms to wave a hand in the general direction of the two. 

Stiles huffs, and once again, charges right around Clint despite the superhero trying to protect him.

"Now wait just one minute there, fido! I don't care -what- Allison said, okay? I told her to go away, and it sure as hell wasn't because a bow and arrow wielding maniac told me to!"

"Hey! I totally resemble that remark!" Clint huffs, and Stiles can't help but grin over his shoulder at the older man. Throwing in an epic eye roll for the hell of it.

"Resent, Clint! You -resent- that remark .. even if the other is true, too."

"Bite my sass, Stiles!" Clint reaches out to throw his arm around Stiles, pulling him back against his chest, making the teen laugh heartily as he leans against him.

"... what the hell is this, Stiles?" Derek asks, more weary and worn out sounding now. So, Stiles sobers up immediately. He doesn't move, but he stands a little straighter as he rests against Clint.

"It's exactly what I told Allison it was, Derek. This is Hawkeye, Thor sent him to teach me some combat skills. Apparently, my big brother really doesn't like the idea of me charging off head first into danger."

"so, something me and the overgrown model wannabe have in common, then." Derek spits the words from gritted teeth, and Stiles wants to scowl in betrayal when Clint actually nods his agreement on the subject. 

"Yeah, well, the -big- difference is that Thor already knows me well enough to know that I'm not going to -stop- trying to protect those I love, and the innocents that deserve it, so he thought I should at least try and learn how to defend myself." Derek's head hangs a little, though he never takes his Alpha-Eyes off of the two.

"Yeah, I'm inclined to agree, too. Stiles isn't going to stop running with wolves, stop sticking his neck out to keep his city safe. The least we can do is train him up a bit. Every superhero needs training." Stiles can feel his entire body flood with heat, and that pesky sense of arousal kicking in again when Clint's free arm loops lightly around his waist. So that he's now 'trapped' against the older man.

Derek's eyes go wide for a moment, and then narrow dangerously. Oh look, -there's- the fangs! 

"Fine. But next time, you -ask me-, Stiles. That's how this goes. We'll make a schedule for when you're free to train. That work for you?" The Alpha's voice is almost cold and challenging as he addresses Clint, who just shrugs his shoulders with a big grin.

"Works for me, Hale. Now, if you'll excuse us! Now that Stiles' has finished for the day, I want to grab him something to eat. We can discuss the merits of you getting a motorcycle while we eat. I'm sure Cap'n'll even help you learn how to ride one." Stiles pulls away, fist pumping the air while he whoops! And while he might miss it, Clint is fully aware of the way Derek pales at the thought of Stiles owning something like that. However, the two are already headed back toward the motorcycle before the Alpha can say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, maybe I should start accepting prompts. Things people want to see in this, or just things they want fics for.


	3. Dude, No way!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to lordkirashand, and the idea for the conversation between Stiles and Captain America.

* * *

Stiles is twitching a little. Nothing overt or anything. It's not like he's spazzing out or flailing all over the place as he sometimes does. It's mostly just a small tick under his eye accompanied by the occasional jerk of his arm or knee as he stares down at the assignment he's supposed to be working on.

Thing is, he already finished it. About ten minutes after the teacher took her seat and told them to get to work, he had finished. Now, the question is, will it get turned in? Some of his work has a way of getting lost between the moment it's finished and when he's actually allowed to turn it in. And yet, somehow, he's still passing everything with flying colors!

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes narrowed as he glances from the page to the windows lining the wall. 

"Stiles!" Jackson hisses somewhere to the side and behind him, causing him to swivel in his seat and turn his large, doe eyes on his friend. "Stop fidgeting before I throw a book at the back of your head!" Jackson gives a predatory smile that is one part sexy and one part scary as all hell. It leaves Stiles feeling flustered all over and annoyed at the same time.

"Just try it, Sparky, and I'll have you on a leash so fast your head will spin." He growls the words petulantly at his friend, who just smirks and narrows his eyes. 

"Oh, kinky! I'm not sure who would be angrier if you did that .... Thor, Derek, or Danny!" 

"Nope, nope, oh, and a whole lotta NOPE!" Stiles grouses, shoving his finished assignment into his book before closing it. Loudly. When the teacher and several students all hiss a SHHH at him, he winces and offers some vaguely apologetic grimace in their general direction before he leans back in his seat, sighing. Another round of annoyed shushing and he is outright glaring at anyone that is bothering to give him the stink eye.

"Jackass." He mutters so softly that only the werewolves are able to hear it. He's not even a little bit shocked when a balled up piece of paper hits him in the back of the head. He turns and grabs it before it hits the ground. Once he's managed to mostly smooth it out, he rolls his eyes at the childish drawing of Thor with his hammer, smacking an X-eyed Stiles over the head. After a moment, he pens a crude drawing of Jackson with an arrow through his knee, shot by a crazy-eyed Hawkeye. He wads it up and tosses it over his shoulder. Hearing the yelp of surprise when it no doubt lands right on Jackson's head. 

"Seriously! If you were a tenth this coordinated in practice, you wouldn't be a bench-warmer, Stilinski." Jackson grouses childishly as he smooths the paper and snorts with laughter.

"Quiet!" The teacher snaps, and they both sink a little deeper into their seats as Jackson pens a picture of Captain America bashing his shield over Derek's head. His teeth are bloody, his tongue lolling out, and his red Alpha eyes are crazy looking. Stiles turns in just enough time to catch it, unwadding it and immediately falling into laughter. Before promptly falling out of his seat as he flails. "Ugh, for the last time! Jackson! Stiles! Be quiet!" Stiles carefully pulls himself back up, into his seat, blushing profusely as he rights himself and stares down at the pic.

"Oh man, if the Alpha sees this, you're dead, Whittemore." Stiles snickers and quickly shoves the drawing into the front pouch of his backpack before he grabs up his book and pulls the assignment out. He deposits the book as well, yanking the strap of his backpack up, onto his shoulder as the bell rings. "Can I go ahead and turn this in, please?" He actually flutters his lashes at his teacher, who just rolls her eyes and holds a hand out, yanking the paper from Stiles about three seconds before Jackson threads his arm around his shoulder and pulls him out, into the hall.

"It should go without saying, but I'm gonna say it anyway ... if you show that to our Alpha, I will kick your ass nine ways to Sunday, Stilinski." The werewolf practically purrs the words and Stiles actually gulps. Sure, he knows that it's an empty threat these days. Jackson would no more hurt Stiles than he would intentionally hurt himself, so the threat is nothing but playful. However, the human teen still remembers how it -used- to be and sometimes, he has to struggle not to react wrong.

"Yeah, yeah, sure sure, whatever, Sparky." He grins faintly, little more than a thin press of his lips together, and Jackson frowns momentarily.

"Don't call me Sparky, Stilinski." He rolls his eyes, hip-checking the human playfully as they head toward the doors leading out of the school. They are in the midst of laughing at each other when they realize that everyone has gone strangely quiet. As one, they lift their heads and nearly gape in surprise at the motorcycle parked in front of the school. Of course, more intriguing than the machine, is the muscular man straddling it.

"Stiles?" The man sounds almost shy as he questions the two approaching teens, and Stiles can feel all the wide-eyed stares in his direction. And even without supernatural abilities, he can hear the whispering start. No doubt, everyone is wondering what the hell such a handsome, mysterious man wants with the resident nerd/weirdo/freak that is Stiles Stilinski. He grimaces, carefully pulling out of Jackson's hold to step up to the motorcycle.

"That would be me, yeah. Let me guess ... Steve, right?" Stiles can feel himself blushing, his eyes downcast ever so slightly as he holds his hand out to the older man. 

"That's right. The other two told me all about you." Steve slides off the bike, reaching out to take Stiles' hand. His shake is light and yet earnest, and Stiles can't help but beam at the older man.

"Dude! I can't -even- right now! It's really YOU!" No matter how hard he tries, he can't make himself look at Steve with anything beyond awe and hero worship! He's shaking the hand of Captain America!! The very first Avenger! His cheeks are probably blood red and he knows that he's about two seconds away from sweating in his excitement! "I'm really not trying to be rude or anything, but what are you doing here? Did my brother send you?" He looks around quickly, knowing that everyone within hearing distance is going to be trying to puzzle out how Stiles, a notorious only child, suddenly has a brother, but he doesn't care! Let them try and guess, there's no way that they will be able to put two and two together and get four!

Steve chuckles at the attempt at subterfuge, and leans back on his motorcycle. After a moment, he crosses his massive arms and Stiles finds himself fighting down a wave of arousal. Again. He assumes he fails, because Jackson's nose wrinkles and he cuts a surprised side-eye at the human teen. All Stiles can really do is bite at his bottom lip in utter embarrassment. It sucks, sometimes, being around werewolves, because there is absolutely -no- sense of privacy when they can scent, hear, or see more than you ever can. Honestly, he's pretty sure that they always know more about his day than -he- does. Maybe he should talk to the Alpha about teaching his Pups a bit about dialing it back, so that it doesn't always feel as if they are prying into his personal life. Yes, he knows that they cannot always help it, but at the same time, he knows that a lot of their supernatural senses have to be concentrated on to be used, which means that they are explicitly eavesdropping on his state of being most of the time.

"Actually, no. Well, your ... brother ... did ask me to drop in at some point, to introduce myself and everything, but I decided to come down now, rather than wait until later. I find myself curious about the young man that has two of the most stubborn men I have ever met actually -agreeing- about something." Stiles wonders if he can get heatstroke from blushing too much. Logically, he knows that it's not really a possibility, but stranger things have happened. Actually, stranger things have happened to -him- and -all- of his friends, so who even knows these days!? Especially when he is literally standing right in front of Captain America himself! 

"Let me guess .. they both agree Stiles is a stubborn pain in the ass and a lost cause, right?" Jackson quips and Stiles flinches. In the next second, Steve is off of the motorcycle and standing between the two teens. His eyes have narrowed and his arms are crossed in front of him again, leaving Jackson swallowing heavily as he tries to figure out why this over muscled man is here. And who the hell he is, for that matter.

"Now .. I don't believe -either- of us were talking to you, kid." Steve speaks slow and careful, without any real threat, but with heat behind the words that makes Jackson take a step back. Stiles groans softly to the side, shaking his head. "In fact, I don't even know who you are, so there's no way this conversation is any of your business." 

"It's okay, Steve. This is my friend, Jackson, and he was only teasing." Jackson nods a single, terse time, and Steve looks between the two teens before he scoffs.

"Seriously? Then why did you flinch at his words, Stiles? That's not really a ... friendly reaction." Stiles flinches again, and Steve frowns. Takes a step closer to him, looking Stiles over in search of something.

"We weren't always friends." He mumbles, and after a moment, Steve gives a nod. Surely the Avenger can understand that things change, right? That sometimes, situations improve and friendships evolve. Right?

"Okay." The Avenger turns to look at Jackson, who is tensed and ready to fight or flee, he's not sure which. When he looks back at Stiles, the teen is shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Right, then. Come on, Stiles." He reaches to grab a helmet, handing it over to Stiles even as he grabs the boy's backpack and secures it. "It was interesting meeting you, kid, but we gotta go." Once Stiles has the helmet on, Steve motions for him to get on the motorcycle, and isn't sure if he should be amused at how quickly the teen gets situated, or annoyed at how easily he is prepared to go with someone he doesn't actually know. Sure, he knows that Steve is Captain America, or at least, that is who he's claiming to be. He had never been seen without his mask, not yet, so how could the boy be -sure- that he is who he says he is? 

"Stiles!" Jackson drawls, looking from Steve, to the teen, and then around the parking lot. Good, at least one of them has some instinct. "Are you sure about this? I can give you a ride home, you know." Stiles pulls the helmet off, grinning almost dopily.

"Nah, it's okay. I'll call you later, dude. See ya!" He yanks the helmet back on, wiggling on the seat as Steve gets the motorcycle started. After a moment of hesitation, Stiles carefully wraps his arms around the older man, trying his best not to be awkward about this. (Because he's still feeling hot and tingly all over, and being pressed into CAPTAIN AMERICA in any way, is not going to help that at ALL!)

"Hold on tight, Stiles." Steve grins over his shoulder before he revs the motorcycle and takes off. Stiles actually yelps, his arms tightening until he's plastered against Steve's back. Cap'n is going way faster than Clint had, and the teen is forced to hold on for dear life. (He's doing every thing in his power to will down his sense of arousal. But come -on-! Steve is all warm, coiled muscle and hot leather!) 

"Oh my GOD!" The teen whoops, freeing one hand to fist pump the air as he makes so many sounds of glee as they roar down the highway. Steve can't help but feel lightened by Stiles' enthusiasm. He grins openly as they come to a stop at a red light. 

"No matter how hard he tries, Clint can never handle this thing like I do!" Stiles chuckles and squeezes at the midsection of the older man.

"Well, Clint did try to impress, not gonna lie. But yeah, you're way better with this than he was!" Stiles squeaks when they take off again, his hands burying deep in the slick leather of Steve's jacket. He nearly flails and lets go when he feels a reassuring hand cover one of his. After a moment of hesitation, he carefully lays his cheek against Steve's back, right between his shoulder blades.

After a moment, the teen closes his eyes, allowing his other senses to ramp up as much as humanly possible. He can smell leather and sweat, aftershave and a hint of cologne through the helmet. He can hear the sound of air whipping past them, the roar of the motorcycle, and pressed this close, he can even hear the dull thud of Steve's heart. It creates this strange sensory cocoon that wraps him up and leaves him feeling safe and content. 

At the next red light, Steve idles the engine, his hand moving back to cover Stiles' where it is no longer gripping at his jacket. Instead, it is pressed flat against the man's abs, though it is not a conscious move on Stiles' part. (Once his brain kicks back in fully and he realizes that he has a hand pressed against those chiseled muscles, he'll probably be really embarrassed!) 

"So, Clint told me you really like burgers, I figured we could grab something to eat and talk. Sound good?" Stiles nuzzles a little closer to the Avenger on instinct, already shaking his head yes even though the older man can't see it. Though, he can probably feel it where Stiles' head is resting.

"Sounds good, man! I never turn down burgers and curly fries." He calls out over the growl of the engine, blinking when he thinks he hears a honking of some kind. "The Burger Shoppe would be the best place!" He starts to holler out directions when he realizes that he is -definitely- hearing a honk! He glances at the light, sees that it's still red, and turns around. Fully prepared to flip off the guy laying on his horn. That is, until he sees a very, -very- familiar black Camaro idling behind them. "Holy shit!"

"Language!" Steve cautions on reflex, though he's already looking over his shoulder to see the vehicle honking at them. He quirks a brow at the tinted windows, but has a pretty good idea who it might be when he feels Stiles' shaking a little against his back.

"Yeah, I think he's not happy. Which, really, is nothing -new- exactly, but I have a feeling you didn't know to tell my Alpha that you were here. Which makes sense, because it really isn't his -right- to -okay- who I can and can't hang out with. But he's stubborn and set in his weird Alpha ways, or maybe they're just werewolf ways, I'm never really sure." Stiles has finally managed to turn back around and his hands have tightened. One still buried in leather, the other now scrunching Steve's shirt over his abs. 

"No, I didn't know I was supposed to warn your Alpha I was coming or anything. Hell, I didn't even know you -had- an Alpha." Steve scowls for a moment before he reaches down. Presses his palm gently to Stiles' hand where it's bunching his shirt. "Don't worry about it, Stiles. I'm, like, 90% sure I can take him, anyway." This draws a bark of laughter from the teen. He tosses his head back and laughs loudly toward the heavens. Steve manages to glance over his shoulder and smirk lightly at the tinted windows behind him before they are barrelling down the highway once more. Stiles squeaks with excited happiness before he plasters himself to the Avenger's back again, hollering in joy as they dodge around vehicles, putting as much space between them and the Camaro as they can manage.

* * *

Of course, neither of them is so naive as to believe that they will evade the Alpha forever. (Or even more than a few minutes, really.) Once they arrive, Steve parks the motorcycle and Stiles pulls the helmet off. He tries not to blush when Steve reaches out to finger his hair out of the helmet-hair 'do it had shifted into, but of course he blushes. Somehow, he even manages to stand still through the ministrations before Steve pulls back and heads toward the restaurant, Stiles hot on his heels.

"Hi! Yeah, we need a table, somewhere in the back. A rather surly, sourpuss man will be joining us." Stiles remains deadpan and serious as he speaks to the Hostess, despite the fact that he's cracking up with laughter on the inside.

"Uhm, how am I supposed to know which one is him?" Steve and Stiles exchange a bit of a smirk, and then glance back at the young woman.

"He looks like a model that got up on the wrong side of the bed .. for the past ten years ..." Steve snorts with amusement at Stiles' description, but doesn't actually correct it. Partially because he has a feeling that it's probably accurate, but also partially because he hasn't actually -seen- the Alpha to be able to make a judgement. He just has the opinions of Stiles, Thor, and Clint to go by.

"I'm sure he'll be here in three, maybe four minutes." He turns and lifts a hand, politely indicating for Stiles to go ahead of him. The teen grins at the Hostess before he turns and takes off in the direction she indicates. She places them at a table in the back, the section mostly empty, with a television facing toward them. The volume is turned down, but the screen is unobstructed. On instinct or something, Steve pulls a chair out for Stiles and the teen contemplates crawling under the table, but takes the chair, instead. Once they have ordered drinks, Steve slides his hands down into his lap, smiling across at the teen.

"So, Clint said that your brother wanted you to start training. How did that go? He can be a bit .. intense, when he has a weapon in hand." Stiles snorts softly, nervously carding a hand through his hair. Causing it to rise and fall in every direction. 

"Yeah, he can be a bit intense, but it was really, -really- great. Well, until Hale walked out and basically told him he's not allowed to schedule anything else without his say-so. I get that he's in charge and everything, but come on! Scott doesn't have to check with him before scheduling anything. Jackson gets to go off and do whatever he wants for his endurance training, even Isaac gets away with honing his skills on his own. But -I- have to have his permission and allow -him- to decide my schedule??" Stiles huffs and contemplates kicking the empty chair at the table, but knows that it would be foolish. He'd just end up making a scene and the last thing he really wants to do is embarrass himself further in front of the superhero. After a moment, he crosses his arms in front of himself. "And he can't even claim that it's because I'm different from the others. Allison is just like me, and she doesn't have to clear her training with him. I'm sure if Lydia was into the physical aspect of everything, she wouldn't need his permission, either. I guess the weakest needs his hand held or something." He tips his head back, eyes narrowed angrily at the ceiling as he tries to sort through this sudden surge of bitter emotions. When Derek had said it, Stiles hadn't really thought much about it because he assumed it was mostly due to the fact that strangers were coming into his territory and spending time with one of his pack. But now that he has had time to actually stop and think about the situation, he realizes that he is the only one Derek seems to be making a fuss over. He doesn't like it.

"There is -nothing- weak about you, Stiles. Your brother told me what you did for him .. the fact that you put your life on the line to help a stranger like that? That is -not- weak. That was brave. The kind of brave that most people can only wish to be." The teen shifts uncomfortably in his seat, still staring upward. He's not used to praise of any kind. His Dad hasn't been proud of him in what feels like forever, Scott only ever gives token compliments that mean very little because it sounds more like Scott speaking by rote than anything he has actually put thought into or meant. 

He clears his throat, closes his eyes for a moment in hopes of shutting out the impending breech of the real world. Here, in this moment, for this second, he can pretend that he's a normal person preparing to have a bite to eat with a friend. (Who just happens to be hot like the corona of the Sun!) 

".. thank you. Most people .. they don't see anything like that." He snorts self-deprecatingly, before he forces himself to sit up again. His hands move to clench in the edge of his shirt, his gaze trained on the wood grain of the table. "Every one just sees a skinny, defenseless, spastic kid who isn't capable of taking care of himself, let alone helping anyone else out." A humorless laugh is ripped from him, his fingers plucking at the hem of his shirt. "I mean, if you need someone's school work to copy, or if you need some random fact answered, sure, ask the weird kid. But be ready for him to talk your ear off, flail at you, and generally annoy the hell out of you." His fingers squeeze against one another until the skin is red and blotchy. "Or hey, he can research the hell out of something, but better not stick around. He'll probably bug you." His breathing is erratic, and yet, silent. The human ears of the superhero across from him can't really hear it, thankfully. "Whatever." He jerks his hands free of his shirt, forcing his palms up, onto the table so that they are splayed flat there. 

He watches with some strange fascination as Steve reaches across the table and carefully lays his palms on the tops of his hands. Applies the barest hint of pressure so that Stiles will know that he's there, but not so much that the teen will feel pressured or caged in. 

"I get it, Stiles. I really, really do." And he knows that's the truth. Every one knows the bare bones of Captain America's story. The super-soldier that was a scrawny, defenseless kid that wanted nothing more than to join the military and fight for his country. Rejected time and time again because he was too small, too weak, too everything undesirable. Stiles gags on his next inhale, his gaze tracing every line of Steve's hands as he tries to focus. Tries to remember. "I thought so little of myself, because every one around me kept telling me that I really wasn't worth it. I was too skinny, too weak, too short, too not good enough. I started to believe them." The hands on top of his tighten, fingers tucking under until the older man is practically holding his hands in some odd show of understanding and camaraderie. "I never should've listened, never should've believed them when they told me all of that, because they were wrong. Just because I wasn't -their- ideal, didn't make me lesser. And you, you are -not- lesser, in any way, Stiles." 

There is such earnest sincerity in the Captain's voice, that Stiles feels almost drugged by it. There is an odd lassitude spreading through him, shadowed by a sense of wonder and awe. Slowly, he nods his head to indicate that he understands what the Captain has said. He might not be able to believe it yet, but he is at least acknowledging the older man's words.

"Stiles! What the hell!?" Derek's snarling voice causes the teen to jerk backwards. Steve's hands covering his are the only thing that keeps him from flailing right out of his seat. When the Alpha looks pointedly at their hands on the table top, Stiles goes beet red and immediately pulls his hands free and drops them into his lap. 

"Hello, Mr. Hale." Steve pointedly draws the werewolf's attention to himself, standing and holding a hand out to him. In his usual display of friendliness, Derek immediately crosses his arms and drops into the seat next to his human beta.

"I thought we talked about this? If any of .. them .... are going to show up, you're supposed to discuss it with me! There is no way you're on for training right now, either." The Alpha is practically glowering at him, making Stiles shift uncomfortably in his seat. He's even unceremoniously keeping his eyes down, as if chastised.

"I really don't like being ignored, you know." Steve mutters even as he drops back into his own seat, on the other side of Stiles. In a move that is less petulant and more second nature, he crosses his own arms and stares across the distance at the irate werewolf. "And Stiles didn't actually know I was coming. This is a surprise visit, to get to know him. With the way Clint and his brother keep going on about him ... well, I just had to meet the young man for myself. And no, we're not training. Though, I was hoping his Dad might let him come up to New York this Summer. We could get him started on a little program, see if we can train him up a bit. Tony's busy, but he's been going on and on about getting Stiles' input on some tech. I think he's hoping to persuade him toward Stark Industries." Stiles' head snaps up, mouth hanging agape as he stares at Steve for a moment. Before lunging to wrap his hand around one of his massive biceps.

"Oh my god, yes! Like, all the freakin' YESSES, man! I would give anything to intern at Stark Industries!" He is practically vibrating in his seat at the thought. "Oh man, I could even meet Hulk! because BOY, do I have a -lot- of questions for him! And Jarvis!! I have about a thousand questions for him! Oh man, this is going to be so great! Dad will totally let me go." A growl from the Alpha causes Stiles to jump in surprise, turning his wide eyes on the werewolf. "What?"

"Stiles, there is no way in -hell- you're going to New York. You have a hard enough time staying out of trouble in a small town like Beacon Hills. I'm not sure even the Avengers would be enough to keep you safe in a city that size." Stiles deflates instantly, his hands sliding away from the superhero to fall against his lap. He's already relenting, of course. If his Alpha thinks it would be a bad idea, then of course he's going to stay put. 

"Last I checked, you weren't his Dad, Hale. If the Sheriff says that it's okay, we're arranging it. With or without your consent. You know, you're just lucky his Brother doesn't want to take him back -home- to visit. Pretty sure there's nothing you could do to stop him, if he decides he wants to take Stiles anywhere. His .. particular form of travel .. kinda trumps you, man." Stiles snorts at that, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. Because Steve is right. If Thor got it into his head, he could easily 'borrow' the human using the Bifrost, there wouldn't be a damn thing a single one of the Werewolves (Or his Father for that matter) could do about it.

"If that overgrown model tries to lay a -finger- on Stiles to take him away, I'll gut him like a fish." There is no raising of Derek's voice. No inhuman growl to back up his words. Just the quiet, even delivery of a promise and Stiles shivers a little at the thought that the werewolf would go to all of that trouble over him. This time, he turns toward the Alpha. Gently laces both sets of fingers around the werewolf's bicep. Squeezing gently.

"Derek, please. Just stop. I won't go. You and .. my brother ... you can't fight. Okay? You just .. you -can't-. Please." He is not whining but he sure as hell is -begging-. "I don't have much family, Derek .. I have ... well, I have our group, and now I have an honest to God Brother that gives a damn about what happens to me." Stiles is staring at the spot that he's grabbing. Seeing how pale his fingers look in comparison to Derek's olive colored Henley. "Did you know he calls every night? That on the nights when Dad has to work, he Skypes to keep me company? He even told me that if I get uneasy when Dad's not home, to call him. Said that he would drop everything and be here as soon as he could. He would -fly- here to make sure I was okay, and I'm not talking about taking an airplane, dude." Stiles squeezes one last time before carefully unwrapping both hands and leaning back in his seat.

Derek's features have slowly melted into a mask of unreadable calm and Stiles really wishes he could see what the werewolf was thinking. If he might actually have a chance to see this through. Because he wants to go so bad there aren't even words for it. It has transcended the fact that they are the Avengers, actual, genuine superheroes. But instead, it's about the fact that they are all awesome people that for some strange reason, want to spend time with him! 

".. this really isn't the spot to talk about this, Stiles." Derek reaches up to scrub his hands across his features, grunting a little as he tries to think. After a moment of hesitation, he pushes himself to his feet. "Order me something." He grunts in Stiles direction before he turns and takes off. Stiles sinks deeper into his seat, his hands pressed firmly over his face for a moment as he catches his breath.

"Right! What can I get you?" The waitress appears, smiling sweetly at Stiles and doing very little to hide the once over she's giving Steve.

"Uhm .. I don't think we actually had time to look at anything. How about you order for everyone, Stiles?" The teen wrinkles his nose, and then nods. 

"Alright, sure. Three cheeseburgers, bacon and swiss, one with mushrooms, the other two without. Six house fries, all the way, and three sweet iced teas. Thanks!" He beams up at her, she smiles obligingly before she turns and walks away. Stiles reaches out to grab a napkin, shredding it in front of him out of the nervous need to be doing something.

"Thanks." Steve intones, head tilted at a faint angle to watch the way that Stiles is moving. He shifts on his seat, trying to decide if he should say something, but he can't think of anything. So, he falls back on the obvious for now. "I'm sure your Dad will have no problem with you visiting this summer. And you'll love it! Tony can give you a tour of his place, Jarvis will probably be willing to secondary a handheld for you. Hey, I'll even take you to a Mets game! I used to look forward to them every year. Some of my best memories are of the Mets." 

Stiles snorts and shakes his head.

"I thought the point was for me to -enjoy- myself, Steve. How in the hell is a -Mets- game enjoyable?" He sneers playfully at the older man who looks dumbstruck and gobsmacked all at the same time before he finally huffs and mock glares at the teen.

"Oh, haha, kid! And just who would -you- consider to be acceptable sports-related entertainment?" Stiles grins and rolls his eyes, pushing the little pile of torn up napkin to the side before he spreads his palms wide across the table.

"Seriously? You even have to -ask- me that? Come on, man, the Dodgers. Can I get a duh up in here?" Stiles rolls his eyes again and nearly follows them right out of his seat when Captain barks an almost derisive laugh. 

"Oh, please. The Mets wipe the floor with the Dodgers when it comes to entertainment, Stiles. How can you sit there and say that to me? I thought we were -friends-!" He juts his chin out, managing to mime a pretty good pout, making Stiles grin lightly.

"Oh, we were totally on our way to being besties, dude, until you came out with that Mets crap. Just no, man. I cannot give bro-points to a man that supports the Mets. Just no." He sighs deeply, profoundly, and mostly just full of it. "And we were on our way to being bros, man. Way to ruin that." Stiles heaves a very put upon sigh just as the chair next to him is pulled out and Derek deposits himself in it again.

"You're both crazy and wrong. I'll take you to watch the Yankees, Stiles. Way better than the damn Mets." Derek is practically smirking with confidence at his statement, and Stiles and Steve turn to share a commiserating look before Stiles moves his seat closer to Derek. So close, in fact, that their elbows knock together when Stiles turns to face his Alpha fully. 

"See this, Derek?" He waves his hand in the air to generally encompass the grumpy, puh-lease look on his handsome features. "This, Derek, is my 'Bitch, please' face, and you, Alpha-Mine, have earned the full brunt of it, okay? Tremble before the awesomeness of it!" Derek snorts before he can stop himself, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his seat. (Though all he really wants is to lean forward and drink in Stiles' closeness.) 

"Stiles, language!" Steve snaps, chuffing before he turns his glare on Derek. "Though this once, I really have to agree with him. the Yankees, really? What bet did you lose that you have to pretend to like them?" It seems to take the werewolf almost half a minute to realize that Steve is just goodnaturedly ribbing him. He sinks further into his seat, shrugging his left shoulder as he smirks.

"I'm mostly just a contrariest." He deadpans, sending Stiles into a fit of snorting a second before the waitress arrives.

"Here you are ... gentlemen ..." Her eyes go comically large when she notices that Derek has joined the group. She actually looks between Steve and Derek, slightly confused and intimidated, and Stiles laughs outright. 

"I know, it's a challenge, right? I mean, which do you pay attention to? They're both equally distracting!" He makes grabby hands for his tea, taking a long drink before setting it down. The waitress merely makes a sort of whimpering sound and nods in agreement to Stiles words. Meanwhile, both older men look utterly lost and confused as to what they mean. "And equally clueless. Oh, well." he winks at the waitress and then stares in shock when she blushes and rushes away. "Okay. That wasn't weird or anything. I mean, the first half of that I get, but the second half? Why is she just now blushing?"

"Because you -winked- at her, Stiles." The Alpha bites the words out from between clenched jaw and gritted teeth, and Stiles is left feeling even more confused. 

"Doesn't everyone blush when you wink at them?" Steve's tone suggests that there is actually a realm of reality where that could be true. Instead of being some kind of strange, unusual occurrence like it actually is.

"Uhm, no. No, no one has -ever- blushed because of something I did." He snorts at the very concept, and Steve and Derek exchange disbelieving looks before they shake their heads. Both refusing to address that just yet. The table descends into silence for a few minutes, each of them lost in their own thoughts as they situate their plates. Stiles grabs three of the house fries and settles them between him and Steve, while shoving the other three toward Derek. Who can't help but grin warmly at his packmate.

"Okay, what on Earth -is- all of this?" Steve shoves a finger in the direction of the bright red, paper lined plastic, and Stiles can't help but grin.

"These are the best thing you will ever eat, my man! They are fully loaded curly fries!"

"What does that even mean, fully loaded?" Derek snorts and digs his fork into the mound of overworked potatoes, taking a large bite.

"Basically, from what I can gather, fully loaded means they own Stiles' soul, for the way he eats them religiously. How the hell he can shove his face with these all the time is beyond me." 

"Hah haha, freakin hah, Hale." Stiles mutters, pouting, before he turns his brilliant smile on Steve, who is doing nothing to hide his indulgent smile. "But yeah, fully loaded means they take their best curly fries, and load them with nacho beef and cheese, grilled onions and peppers, and finish it off with sour cream." Steve quirks a brow and stares down at the fries for a moment, before glancing back up at Stiles.

"... I'm going to be doing a -lot- of extra running after this, aren't I?" Stiles snorts and grabs two curly fries that aren't bathed in the extra.

"Dude, have you -seen- you lately? You could eat everything we ordered, by yourself, and not have to change your routine -at all-. You have -all- the muscles, okay!" Stiles huffs and shoves some curly fries into his mouth, muttering about washboard abs and biceps he couldn't fit his hand around. He pouts as he shoves more curly fries into his mouth, glancing up and doing a double take.

Because Steve looks both amused and embarrassed as all get out, blushing profusely. And Derek's Alpha eyes are glowing, his mouth set in a rather familiar look of anger.

"Really, Stiles? Really? -Right- in front of me?" Derek is whining, though neither human feels the need to call him on it. Probably because neither of them really want to antagonize a pissed off Alpha.

"What? I can't help if it I noticed! I kind of had my hands on him on our way here. You know, his vehicle being a motorcycle and all. It was either I became acquainted with his abs, or I became acquainted with his waist. Hmm ..." Stiles blinks almost languidly, lost in some less than polite thoughts about how firm and awesome Steve's waist would have to be. 

".... you're thinking about his waist -right now-, aren't you, Stiles?" Derek's growl has become chest rumbling and deep, and Stiles actually jumps in his seat. And manages, by the grace of God, not to look really guilty. Because of course he was! "And you're okay with this?" Derek snaps at Steve, who is still blushing a little bit. The older man shrugs his broad shoulders and manages a smile in Derek's direction. 

"I have to put with Tony's really weird version of flirting all the time. I'm kinda flattered, actually." Stiles lights up! He beams like the sun and actually looks momentarily mooning as he grins at the superhero.

"Of -course- you are. Because of course." Derek huffs and jerks his chair back. He reaches into his pocket and tosses some money on the table before he stalks out, muttering under his breath. Stiles turns to look at Steve, still grinning.

"So, I will graciously attend a Mets game, on one condition; we never step into a Yankees game." At the solemn nod from Captain America, Stiles fist pumps the air, grinning like a mad man.

"Okay, these fully loaded things are really good."


	4. Alpha Say What!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize to everyone for how long this update took. My health has been crappy for the last few months, having been diagnosed with abscessed boils on my arms that has made everything, typing included, very hard. 
> 
> But, I have finally managed to get this update done and have determined that there will be one more chapter in this fic! Hope everyone enjoys!

* * *

"Hi, Stiles." Danny's voice is soft and indulgent in that way that only he can do. The way that makes you feel like no matter how annoying you might be, he will find a way to be kind and tolerant of you. (Even if he really doesn't want to be.) Stiles glances up from the open text book balanced precariously on his knees and flashes a friendly smile.

"Oh, hey Danny. What's up, man?" He spares him a few seconds of a look before he glances back down at the text, brows furrowed in concentration.

"So, is it true? Jackson told me .. that you got to meet another one of them. The way he described him .. was it -him-!?" Stiles grins down at the book, sliding a long, slender finger against a paragraph to mark his place as he glances up, into Danny's wide and curious eyes.

"Yeah. Yes, it is. It really, -really- is, man! I totally got to meet Captain America!" Stiles' eyes go a little distant, a faint pink blush fanning across the apples of his cheeks as he remembers it. "He picked me up from school and I got to ride on his motorcycle. Heh, I actually got to put my -arms- around him, Danny-Boy!" Stiles tries to stifle the rather fangirl-like giggle, but it bubbles up and out before he can stop it. Danny's own enthusiastic smile is offered moments before he plops onto the bench next to him. "And can I just say .. that man has abs for -days-, Danny. Like, holy -hell-, man! And of course, can't forget the biceps." Stiles knows that his voice has gone a little deep and dreamy. Kinda like smokey and velvety, but he can't help it. The fact that he got to put his hands on CAPTAIN AMERICA is going to fuel quite a few of his fantasies, okay? "He even blushed when I talked about how good looking he was. It was glorious, Danny." 

"I can't believe I'm about to say this ... but damn it, Stiles, I'm jelous of you." Poor Danny. It sounds like that admission costs him dearly, but Stiles just doesn't care! Because he has finally admitted to being jealous, and even if it is over who Stiles knows and not something personal about him ... he'll totally take it! He beams at his pseudo-friend/packmate, before he returns his attention to his work.

"It's okay, Danny Boy. There's totally reason to be jealous, babe. I'm enviable right now!" He flashes a bright smile somewhere in the vicinity of his lap, before he hunches his shoulders a little more and continues to work.

"So, Stiles ... since you've been so busy with your, uh .. new friends lately, we haven't really gotten the chance to hang out or anything. Even Jackson is starting to whine that you don't have time for him." At this, Stiles blushes. He fights against it, of course, but with his fair skin? He never stood a chance against the flood of heat and color.

"It's not like I'm neglecting anyone on purpose or anything, Danny. I promise." He huffs a sigh and carefully closes his book. Slides it into his backpack and closes the thing up.

"I know, Stiles. I didn't mean you were, I just .. I meant I miss you, man." There's something in the voice of the other teen. Stiles is hesitant to call it hope or longing, or something else that suggests that he means it beyond the realm of friendship. But, that's a fantasy Stiles gave up on a long time ago. More likely than not, he probably just misses his friend, because much like Jackson, he doesn't seem to have many.

"I know, dude, it's just .. things have been awkward lately." Stiles finds himself drawing into himself a little. Sort of .. hunching down. A small voice in the back of his head, that sounds a lot like Steve Rogers, says that he's trying to hide and he really shouldn't. Because of course, the voice trying to talk him -up- inside of his head would sound like Captain America.

"I know, Stiles. So, I was wondering .. if you don't have anything to do today, maybe we could go catch a movie .. grab some dinner? Just the two of us. No Pack, no Alpha, no clingy Jackson .. what do you say?" As Danny begins to ask for what sounds suspiciously like a -date-, Stiles' attention is grabbed by the wide-eyed approach of Mr. Clingy himself. 

Jackson is swaggering in their direction. His eyes are wide and slightly glazed over, his hand wrapped so tightly in the strap of his backpack that his knuckles should probably be white from the hold.

"STILES!" He calls out so loudly that several heads swivel to take in the sight, causing all three teens to wince slightly. Jackson huffs but doesn't blush. He does, however, quicken his step until he's standing right in front of his two friends. "You are so -dead-, Stilinski! Derek is going to murder you and then force me and Isaac to hide the body, because we're your favorites!" The poor werewolf sounds about two seconds from hyperventilating. "And then ... then! Your new friends are totally gonna whack our Alpha and we will be a Pack without an Alpha. SANS ALPHA, STILINSKI, and it will be ALL YOUR FAULT!" Stiles' eyes widen comically as he desperately looks around to make sure that the Alpha remarks didn't grab any unnecessary attention. But of course they hadn't. Once the buzz of Jackson hanging out with the 'rejects' had died down, no one pays they much mind, even when one of them is making a scene. (Of course, a LOT of that is probably because people are used to Stiles saying insane things as if they are commonplace topics, so they ignore the eccentricities of their conversations.) 

"Jackson! Look at you, pretty boy, using a word like sans. And correctly, too! I'm so proud of you, babe!" Stiles plasters on as much over the top smarm as he can muster for those two sentences, grinning impishly when Jackson goes beet red and flounders. No matter how many times Stiles calls him pretty boy, babe, baby, boo, or darlin, the other teen always blushes and stutters. Apparently, he'll never get used to Stiles flirting with him, and that is perfectly okay. Because it's just so damn FUN to tease the werewolf. "That being said, baby, maybe you -don't- walk around shouting about alphas and packs at the top of your perfect pecs, 'kay!?" 

Jackson goes a darker shade of red at the same time that Danny bursts out into ecstatic laughter.

"God, Stiles, did you -really- just call him pretty boy? No, wait, do you -actually- think his pecs are perfect? Who even -says- things like that, man?" Jackson finally seems to recover. At least, enough to grit out a few coherent sentences between his clenched teeth. 

"Stiles does. All the damn -time-. -THAT's- who!" Stiles smiles, warm and happy, because all of the ire has drained from his friend, replaced by fond exasperation. 

"Good. Now that all of that horrible tension is broken .. what the hell, Jackson? Why am I dead? I didn't do -anything- to piss Derek off this time! I've been a good boy, I swear." He even waggles his brows to emphasis his playful point, earning him eye rolls from them both.

"One of your new little friends showed up .. again .... without informing Derek first .... again. So. As you can imagine, Alpha Hale is pissed!" Stiles groans, low and reedy, more like a puppy's whine, really, and it immediately sends Jackson off. Causing him to make the exact same sound. 

"Of course. Because of -course- he is! And yeah, somehow, he's going to blame -me- for this, because it's always my fault when they show up. It's not like I strapped a neon sign to the town saying welcome to Beacon Hills, please come bother us! God!" He grumbles and grouses, throwing his hands up in the air in a fit of agitation. It's not his fault that Thor adopted him into brotherhood and decided to wrangle the rest of the Avengers into handing down their knowledge to him. "Wait! Who is it this time? If Hawkeye or the Captain wanted to get in touch, they'd just call. And Thor would either call or find me like I have a tracker or something." He snorts in amusement before he reminds himself that he's supposed to be a little bit worried here. 

"It's some chick. That's all I know, because Derek said she a lot, in a really violent, not so tolerant way." It doesn't take much brainpower for him to figure out who Jackson is talking about, because there is only -one- female Avenger to his knowledge; Black Widow. He swallows thickly, his adams apple bobbing heavily as he tries to picture what kind of mayhem the woman might cause. His brain shorts out at the possibility and he can feel apprehension leaking from his every pore. A fact reinforced by the sudden, deep whine of confusion and fear that Jackson issues. 

The fact that Jackson suddenly latches onto him is not a surprise to Stiles or Danny .. though, the rest of the students gathered in close knit groups seem to gawk at the sight of the resident asshole wrapped like an octopus around the dorkiest kid in school. The same kid he spent a good chunk of his life tormenting, at that.

"Jackson .." Stiles uses his most soothing, calming voice as he remains perfectly still. He knows better than to try and dislodge the werewolf when he's like this. It will simply cause him to cling tighter, and that usually results in Stiles being hurt. "I need you to listen to me, pretty boy, okay?" If his tone puts one in mind of a person trying to talk to a skittish, potentially dangerous wild animal ... well, that's -exactly- what he's doing. "Calm down, babe, okay? You're going to take a deep breath for me, and then you're going to let go .. because everyone is staring and you -know- how pissed off you're going to be when you come back to yourself and realize that everyone has seen this. So, come on, darlin .. take that deep breath for me."

Stiles isn't sure -why- so many of the pack tend to jump to when he says something, it's an action he hasn't taken too much time to analyze yet. But for some reason, they do. Prime example ... the moment that he says it, Jackson drags in a deep, shaking breath and begins to pry himself off of Stiles. 

"You alright, Jack-Jack?" Danny questions softly, though the question lacks the full bodied concern he would've expressed before he knew about the Pack. Before Isaac had explained that the werewolves cannot always control their emotions and it sometimes causes them to lash out in different ways. The most common being extreme anger and extreme neediness. (Though, even Danny has noticed that when it's the neediness thing, most of the wolves tend to latch on to Stiles for some reason. And while he would totally -love- to have a reason to cling to the other teen, he'd probably try and latch onto Derek if he had the excuse to.)

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry." The apology is pulled from the werewolf with all the feeling of a wrenched tooth as he straightens and looks around discreetly. The gawkers have managed to relocate themselves back to their own conversations. "You need to call Zac, Stiles." He groans softly, already yanking his cellphone from his pocket and hitting speed dial.

"STILES!" Isaac practically screams down the line and Stiles just -barely- has time to keep from making a sound of pain. The last thing he needs right now, is to have to pry Jackson off again while listening to the panic in his Pup's voice on the other end of the line. 

"Yeah, it's me, Pup. Calm down, okay?" When the hell did his life go so far off the reservation that he's now the Werewolf Whisperer?? He can feel a headache creeping in on the sides of his mind, but he pushes the first wave of pain down as best he can.

"Right. Deep breath .. calm down .. I can do that." Always so eager to please. The determination in Isaac's voice makes him smile fondly, because his Pup is the best. "Derek is pissed, Stiles. Like, rage monster on meth pissed, okay?? He wolfed out for a full half minute before he got himself under control. You need to get your ass over here and calm him down. Please!" 

He can feel a little knot of tension deep in his gut swell and grow until it's consumed him. Isaac, sweet baby Isaac, his precious little Pup, is apparently trying to get him -MURDERED-! Because the only possible outcome of him facing down an irate Alpha is death. Dismemberment .. disemboweling ... all kinds of unpleasant things that will ultimately result in a closed casket!

"Zac! Baby boy! Sweet Pup! Are you TRYING to get me KILLED?!" He instantly knows that this is the wrong approach, because he can hear Isaac whimpering on the other end of the phone and can practically feel Jackson vibrating with emotion next to him. "If I come over and try to face Derek down now, he will eviscerate me, Pup. And call me crazy, but I -really- don't want to die." 

".. bitch, you did -not- just say that!" Isaac channels his inner Stiles with those words, causing said teenager to gape off into the distance a second before he feels twin slaps across the backside of his head. Because Danny and Jackson obviously agree with Isaac.

"Hey! What the hell did you do that for!? And I don't get -called- bitch, Zac, I -call- people bitch!" He huffs and grouses, scowling down at his feet as he waits for an explanation for this insanity.

"You cannot -possibly- be this -stupid-, Stilinski!" Jackson seethes the words out even as he lifts a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. As if it's a 'challenge' to deal with Stiles or something!

"Oh god, Stiles! The -last- thing the Alpha wants to do is -kill- you. Paw at, maybe, but not -kill-. Idiot." One person should not be able to cram that much affection into an insult, but Danny pulls it off like an old pro. It took far too long for Stiles to realize that the other teen actually likes him and that his insults are friendly. 

"What? Am I the -only- one at these pack meetings where he threatens to rip my throat out with his teeth? How about the times when he tells me to stay behind because I'm useless? Or the moments where he throws me into walls and -menaces- me!?" 

"... you mean the pack meetings when he pulls your pigtails like a preschooler with a crush?" Jackson pipes up, earning a glare from Stiles. 

"... the times when he tells you to stay behind because he's scared shitless that you're going to get hurt?" Danny points this out with a derisive little snort that is -not- attractive, damn it! 

"... and the wall thing .. you realize that's him -scent marking- you, right? First he shoves you, to get your scent going thick so he can smell you better, then makes sure he gets nice and close so his scent is all over you." Isaac actually snorts as he points that out, and Stiles can feel himself blushing damn near to the tips of his ears. "Hell, when he cowed me in the police station .. he basically -claimed- you, Stiles. It's like licking something and saying 'MINE' really loudly. You're the only one that's going to be able to calm him down until that woman is gone." 

To Stiles, all of this translates to one thing .. he needs new friends! Preferably ones that -won't- try to get him killed. He huffs out a breath and looks between the two .. and then glances warily at the phone in his hand.

"..fine. I'll be over in a few minutes. If the Alpha kills me, Imma come back from the grave and haunt all your asses." He ends the call before Isaac can say anything, almost feeling bad for cutting his Pup off .... almost. Once the phone is put away, he glances between his two friends. "As for you two ... we are no longer going out tonight. Go have fun without me." When they both begin to protest, he cuts them off with a violently waving hand before he stomps off toward his Jeep. Whatever good mood had been cultivated with thoughts of Captain America has since soured.

* * *

The Jeep clunks to an abrupt stop outside of Hale House, causing Stiles to shudder a little as he turns the vehicle off. He knows that he should go inside .. -has- to, in fact, if he's going to take a stab at making any of this any better. But he -really- doesn't want to. So, instead, he yanks his cell phone out, staring down at the blank black screen for a moment. Maybe some small part of himself is hoping that Thor can sense his discomfort and will message him out of the blue. It's happened before! Well, not the sensing part, but the messaging out of the blue. Somehow, his brother has a habit of showing support even without knowing that he needs to.

In fact, Stiles had gone so far as to ask the Asgardian if Stark had managed to tag him somehow. Of course, his brother had only laughed such a notion away. (Stiles still suspects there may be some truth to that. Or, at the very least, he expects to be properly tagged if he manages to visit New York.)

He stares at the phone for a few more moments, then reluctantly tucks it back into his pocket and exits his vehicle. Even if this situation isn't technically his fault, it's time to face the music and take on his irate Alpha. He has barely placed his foot on the first step of the porch when the front door flies open. Isaac is a blur of bouncing curls and awkward limbs. Stiles has only a moment to register the Pup's approach before his arms are full of vibrating werewolf. 

Isaac wraps both arms around Stiles, trembling hands grabbing at the excess bunch of his shirt at the small of his back and enveloping his fingers tightly in it. He then ducks his head, allowing his shoulders to sag until he can fit his face against the curve of Stiles' neck. Several quick exhales and he is thoroughly scenting his packmate as a means to try and get a handle on his emotions. Somewhere deep down, the human is aware that this should be weird on -so- many levels. The fact that someone as beautiful as Isaac is wrapped around him is a weird sort of jolt to his self esteem, but not because so many people at school would love to have someone that hot pressed against him .. but because the Werewolf is showing him so much trust. If Stiles were an enemy, he could easily hurt the other teen, but they both know he never would.

"Shh, it's alright, Pup. I'm here." He coos and purrs the words as soft and sweetly as he can. Doing everything in his power to reassure the other teen that it will be okay. Because there is absolutely -no- reason that anything bad should be happening because another Avenger has arrived. Stiles cannot -begin- to understand why Derek is so damn upset about this.

"T-ty .." Isaac whines the nickname against the exposed skin of his neck and Stiles shivers with the sensation. "I don't -like- her. She doesn't sound or smell right. She ... she's -fake-." Each word is delivered as if they pain the werewolf, and since Isaac is voicing feelings, emotions, and doubts, it probably does. 

"Well, she's not really -fake-, Zac, not really." Stiles reaches up, runs the pads of his fingers through the hair behind Isaac's ear, where he can easily reach. "She was raised as a spy. Taught espionage and all of that ninja stuff. It's not that she's -fake-, Pup, it's just .. that she doesn't know who she is. She's never been able to establish herself." He leans forward, brushes his lips across the temple of his Pup ever so gently and grins when Isaac rewards him with a happy, blissed out whine. 

"I guess that makes sense." Stiles lights up. BEAMS at Isaac, because his perfect little Pup is willing to try and give the Avenger the benefit of the doubt. Just as he should. He squeezes his packmate gently before he starts to pull back.

"So. Stiles. Not what I was expecting. Thor made you sound .. well, like -more-." He bristles. Every instinct in the human shoots to the surface and brings with it a hypervigilance that he often tries to steer clear of these days. 

"And you must be Natasha ... exactly as bitchy as I expected you to be." He doesn't sugar coat his tone or try and force it into a friendly timbre. He won't censure himself for his -Alpha-, there's no way in hell that he's going to censure himself for some woman he doesn't know. Avenger or not. (And yeah, okay, his tone and words do very little to further foster the 'give her a chance' vibe he has been trying to imbue Isaac with, but he can't help it. The woman had come out 'swinging.')

To his utter surprise, even as Isaac tenses in his arms and tries to burrow that much closer, Black Widow actually smiles. Not that cool, distant smirk she's known for, not something teasing or mean. Just a light little smile that throws Stiles' off guard.

"Sorry. That wasn't exactly .. friendly, was it?" There is a note of playfulness in her voice, and Stiles can feel himself relaxing. "Hello, Stiles. I'm Natasha. I've heard so much about you." She moves to step out of the open doorway, but stills instantly when Isaac lets out a threatening growl. "Don't worry, Puppy, I'm not going to hurt your little pet." 

All the relaxation drains from the human and he can feel his own lips peeling back in a bit of a growl.

"Get your ass out of our den and leave." Stiles snarls the words, human vocal chords unable to deepen the threat as much as he wishes he could, but the point comes across. Because her eyes widen, her mouth drops open and she begins to look around quickly. 

"Uhm .. den? I thought this was Derek's house? You don't really have the authority to --"

"Shut. Up." He enunciates both words very, very carefully, making sure that he leaves no doubt in her mind as to what he has just told her to do. "Yes, this is Derek's House, which would be -why- we call it Hale House, lady. But it is -also- the Den, open to the whole pack. And I -do- have the authority to tell you to get the hell out of here, because -I- am Pack and -you- are the Outsider." He can feel his temper boiling up, under his skin. Can feel the same righteous anger he always experiences when someone has the gall to mess with a member of his Pack. "I don't care what you have to say, because you're gonna listen. If you -ever- call my Pup a puppy again, I'm gonna step back and let my Alpha deal with you." From the way her pretty features go slack, it's obvious that she believes Derek would do just that. That the Alpha Werewolf would tear into her if Stiles asked/told him to. "And don't even get me -started- on that pet bullshit. I don't know what kinda twisted crap goes through your mind, girlie, but in no reality is it -okay- to suggest ownership like that." 

He snaps his jaws shut, swallowing a retort he knows he would regret. After all, it wouldn't do to compare her to a -pet- of the Avengers even after that line. He sucks in a breath, wincing when Isaac's hands tighten so far in his shirt that his nails rip through the material and scrape across his back. 

"Okay, wow." She murmurs, slack features hardening a fraction as she looks between Isaac and Stiles. "I don't know what this kid has been telling you, or what crawled up your ass and died, Stiles, but I wasn't being serious. It's just .. talk." Before she can say anything else, Stiles steps forward and around, so that he's between Isaac and Natasha. His eyes are burning with barely suppressed rage as he looks her over. 

"No ... no, see, just -talk- would be me saying Catwoman called and wants her look back because black onesies are so last century." The scathing, sassy insult earns a sort of laughter against his neck, Isaac nuzzling into him gently. "Or you know, just -talk- would be me pointing out that you know good and well you're not supposed to be here, because Steve promised me that he would tell -all- of you that Derek has to approve your arrival, so any excuse you come up with is bullshit. See, all of -that- is just us, talking. What you said was anything -but-. In fact, what -you- said was nothing short of a bitch thing to say." 

"Stiles." Stiles, Isaac, and Natasha all jump in varying degrees of surprise at the sound of Derek's voice. If Isaac hadn't been holding him, Stiles probably would've fallen flat on his ass. As is, he flails a little, but manages to remain upright. "What are you doing here." Though the words are a question, the Alpha manages to make it some kind of deadpan statement, and Stiles smiles despite himself. 

"What do you think I'm doing here, Alpha Hale? Isaac called me and informed me that we had another unscheduled visit." He curls his top lip into a snarl, aiming it at Natasha with all the ire he can muster at the moment. Which is quite a bit when he still has an emotionally wounded, vibrating Isaac wrapped clingingly around him. "So, I came to handle the unwarranted intrusion. And am, in fact, demanding that Black Widow leave the den immediately." 

Stiles finds himself holding his breath even as he squares his shoulders but continues to hold and protect his packmate. In truth, he has no idea how Derek will react. Despite what Danny and Jackson may think, the human is convinced that the Alpha only -tolerates- him .. and even that seems to be a fleeting thing. So, imagine his surprise when Derek crosses his arms in front of himself, lifts the corners of his mouth into a slight smirk, and nods his head.

"Sounds good to me." Derek's eyes flash Alpha red even as he turns his intense stare onto the black-clad woman. "See, even Stiles doesn't want you here. So, how about you leave our Den ... or I'll let him call his brother and see how that goes." The human finds himself curious ... did it physically -pain- the Alpha to admit that he'd let someone else take care of her, if it came to that? Stiles sort of figures it probably did. Maybe the same kind of phantom ache amputees feel? 

Stiles shivers, feeling the gentle press of newly formed fangs grazing the vulnerable skin of his neck and it feels like a really dangerous tickle. Thankfully, he manages not to laugh. Instead, he is still leveling the human snarl at the interloper. 

"What? You're kicking -me- out, really? I was -sent- here by his -brother-, Derek. Do you really think Thor is going to make me leave?" She is trying to inject some bit of logic into her words, of that he is sure, but honestly .. it isn't working. In fact, her 'logical' argument is greeted by Derek rolling his eyes, Stiles snorting, and Isaac growling lightly.

"Seriously? -That's- the best you got, lady?" Stiles throws his head back, exposing the long line of his neck as he howls with laughter. Though the Avenger isn't likely to understand it, it is a two-fold insult. One, against her intelligence if she -honestly- thinks that Thor is going to choose -her- side in all of this, second because he is exposing his throat to her as if she is no threat to him. Because she isn't. His Alpha is -right- there and there isn't a single thread of doubt in him that Derek would protect him and keep him safe. "You -honestly- think that if I call my big brother up and tell him that you broke the rules, out-right defied Steve -and- my Alpha, and that you upset me by upsetting my favorite Beta ... that he's going to choose -your- side in all of this?" The teen huffs with amusement, before his eyes widen and he jerks back enough that he can look at Isaac. "Do -not- tell Jackson I said that, or he's gonna be a clingy bitch for -days- and that novelty is -really- starting to wear off." 

"Oh please, -every one- knows that I'm your favorite Beta, Stiles." The human dares to sneak a peek at their Alpha, taken aback to see the older man nodding along in agreement. 

"Seriously. It's the worst kept secret in the entire Pack, Stiles. Why do you think Jackson follows you around like a puppy?" There's a note of almost fond derision in Derek's voice. "He'll do anything to be the favorite. Hell, I think you could probably teach him a few tricks. Wag his tail, fetch .. all the classics." Stiles' mouth falls open in startlement. Because he has to be hearing things. HAS to. 

"Did .. did -you- .. Mr. Grumpy Alpha-pants himself .. just make a -dog- joke!?" The teen is perfectly aware of the fact that his voice goes so high in the middle of the sentence that it cracks, but he manages not to wince. Somehow. He also forgives himself for the pubescent sound given how blown away he is at the thought that Derek Hale is capable of making dog jokes. It's a new side of the man that he simply isn't prepared for.

"Can pants be Alpha?" Natasha's voice cuts off whatever reply the Alpha was about to make, and earns her three mocking stares. "What? I thought it was funny ..." 

"You would. Pretty sure they surgically sterilize the sense of humor in assassins." Stiles delivers the taunt with the same kind of playfulness he would quip at Erica or Scott, but Natasha doesn't react as he expected. She goes completely still for a few moments, her features unreadable and slack as she stares at him. Cold and without any discernible emotion. It freaks him out. 

"I think you're right, Stiles. I shouldn't be here, on Derek's property. I'll meet you at the school gym." As he watches Natasha stalk down the stairs and away from Hale House, he cannot help but feel that this rendezvous is a giant trap that he will be lucky to walk away from. Friend of his brother or not.

"Stiles ... please tell me that you're not going to meet her." Isaac has finally surfaced from his throat, now looking at the human teen with a mixture of fear and concern. It both angers and warms Stiles to know that the Pack keeps such close tabs on him. It's touching that they care, though it can also be a little claustrophobic when he wants time to himself. "Nothing good -ever- happens at the school and I'm pretty sure she could kill you with her pinky finger. I'm -not- scrubbing your blood off the gym floor. Or any floor, actually." 

A soft growl from the Alpha causes both werewolf and human beta to jump in surprise. Derek looks angry and ready to snap, leaving Stiles to assume it's because of any number of reasons beyond the right one. (The right one, of course, being the fact that Isaac is talking about Stiles' blood being outside of his body in any way. That is -not- a subject Derek is comfortable with.)

"Yes, Isaac. I am going to meet her. Because she walked up, into our territory uninvited, riled up my Alpha, messed with my favorite pup, and then issued whatever challenge that was as she left. It's a trap. She has the ability to kick my ass nine ways to Sunday before I can blink, but I'm still going to meet her. I don't back down." Especially not where his Pack is concerned. And Natasha had come up, into the Den of the Pack and caused problems. He's not very happy about that.

"If you'll both excuse me." He pats Isaac on the shoulder, nods darkly at Derek, and then turns to stalk toward his Jeep, fully prepared to meet Black Widow on her terms and see where this is heading.

* * *

Okay, to say that Stiles is nervous would be a vast understatement. He's practically shaking as he heads toward the school. It's actually kind of frightful, how easy it is to get into the school after hours. No wonder so much shit goes down when anyone and any thing can simply walk in. If his life weren't already a giant ball of crazy, he'd probably take the time to try and do something about that. But not now. He has werewolves and Avengers to contend with. How -cracked- is he, that he is actually coming to terms and accepting this??

He slams the door of his jeep a little too hard, paying no mind to the fact that it is harsher treatment than he would usually inflict on his poor baby. Now, however, is not the moment to be gentle or considerate. He's pissed. To the point he is seriously considering calling Thor and letting his Big Brother handle this entire mess, dignity be damned!

He's not going to do that, though. Strangely, it's not the question of his own pride that stops him, but the fact that the pride of his Pack is on the line. He may be the butt of the joke more often than he'd like, and he may sometimes feel that he gives more to his friends than they give to him, but nothing will -ever- get between him and his Pack. Not a Hunter, Kanima, Alien, or even an Avenger. 

The door to the gym bangs closed behind him, causing him to jump despite the fact that -he- caused the noise. A feeling of utter disgust wells up inside of him, but he ignores it for now.

"I'm here? Where the hell are you?!" His voice rings around the gym, echoing back to him in a strange, slightly high pitch that unnerves him for reasons he cannot -begin- to fathom. Moments after he has spoken, something slams into his back and he falls face-first against the hard gym floor. Thankfully, he manages to turn his head in enough time, and his cheek takes the brunt of the impact, rather than something as breakable as his nose.

"Why would you announce your presence to your enemy, Stiles? That's not -even- amateur hour, kid. It's so far below." Black Widow's voice tickles across the nape of his neck, causing a few hairs to stick up at the tickle of it as he tries to get himself under control. But he can't. Because he is -PISSED-! Like, nuclear volcano bred with an alien tech device hellbent on exploding and taking out half of the Milky Way with it levels of PISSED.

"My bad, Widow, didn't realize I was -dealing with an enemy-. Not a mistake I'll make twice, promise." With no hesitation, no announcement, he sends his elbow jabbing up, grunting when it connects with her breastbone and sends her reeling backward, gasping to catch her breath. The moment he no longer feels her weight on his back, he pushes himself to his feet quickly and turns to face her. "What the -hell- is your problem, lady?! First, you show up to the Den of a Pack you are -not- a part of, and then seemed -surprised- when no one wants you there! You even go so far as to -insult- a member of the Pack by saying -they- don't have any say about who is on their territory." Stiles can feel his anger seeping into every pore as he stares the deadly assassin down. "Look, I didn't -ask- you to come here! And yet, you're acting like the one who's been put upon or something. If you dislike it here that badly, then why the hell are you staying!? Because it's pretty obvious that you don't actually want to be here."

Blck Widow's eyes narrow, her mouth pursed into a pouty line and Stiles wants to scream at the top of his lungs. Despite the fact that he -really- wants to rage at her, he can feel his anger waning. Because he has a bit of a thing for strong women that causes him to forgive them almost anything. Also, he sort of realizes how stupidly ridiculous this all is. Rising to her baiting will accomplish nothing beyond getting his ass kicked and probably disappointing Thor. Which is something he cannot and -will- not do. (The only person he is more afraid of disappointing at this point is his Alpha, because he knows that he is nothing but a disappointment to his Dad these days. At least the Avengers have managed to distract him from the rift forming between them.)

"I get it, I do! You're a strong woman surrounded by a bunch of men and you are used to having to prove yourself. -Trust me-, I get that better than anyone else. I'm a freakin' -human- surrounded by supernatural creatures in every damn aspect of my life! Even the other -humans- may as well be supernatural in comparison to me. I've had to fight for my place in this Pack. Had to -prove- that I'm not just the pathetic, useless human! No, I can't fight like the wolves do, I can't shoot a damn bow the way that Allison could, I will -never- be as gorgeous or strong as Danny and I'm reminded often enough that I'm not as smart as Lydia. But that has never, will never, stop me. Nothing will. I love my Pack ..... I will always be here for them, and there is -nothing- I will back down from that effects them. The Avengers included -- oh my GOD! This was a -TEST-, wasn't it!?!" His tone flows from fragmented, cracked truths to words of such unrepentant certainty that he has been baited and goaded into this mess as some form of test and he isn't even sure he has -passed it- 

Black widow's pout instantly transforms into a playful smirk and by the Gods of every religion and known world, he wants to smack her. Hard. 

"Fell better, kid?" Her words are taunting and rile his ire even further, but he can understand the undercurrent of them now. She's genuinely concerned with his comfort level, not just being a bitch. Good to know. He exhales sharply, forcing his limbs to unclench as he begins to nod.

"Surprisingly, yes. I feel a helluva lot better. Thanks. So! Why are you really here?" 

"To get your shirt off." Her words are serious, never wavering and Stiles feels them like a blow to his body. His cheeks erupt in heat, his mouth falls open to a fish-like gape of incredulity. This is quickly followed by an almost hiccuping laugh as he tries to force his newly short-circuited brain to catch up with what has just been said. Because there's no way in HELL that BLACK WIDOW wants to see him without a shirt on. Skinny, spastic him!? He clears his throat when nothing but a croak exits his mouth, before trying again.

"What!?"

"Did I stutter, Stiles? I'm here to get your shirt off." Oh, wow. Okay. She -really- meant that. Can he just crawl into a corner and die of embarassment now!? "How else are we supposed to train? You're not exactly dressed for that, you know. Here." He barely manages to catch a thrown backpack before it smacks him in his face. He turns on his heels and speed walks toward the locker rooms in hopes that he won't make a complete and utter fool of himself. If it's not too late for that, of course.

* * *

"What do you -want- Isaac!?" Derek snarls the words, the last remnants of control he has been exorcising on his temper finally crumbling away as he watches the teenager pacing back and forth on his front porch. Normally, he'd simply stay inside, letting him work out whatever is running through his mind, but this is different. He's not just -pacing- like usual. He's .. well ... -spasming-. He really can't think of any other word for it. The young man is spasming on his front porch and he's pretty sure that it's all Stiles' fault. How, he's not sure, but it must be. Because the human has taught his betas a -lot- of bad habits, damn it!

"What do you -think- I want -Derek-!?" The beta actually growls and every Alpha instinct in Derek is trying to go crazy. _Chastise. Protect. Discipline. Make it better._ He promptly and fully ignores every single one of those thoughts, opting to sigh in exaggerated, Stiles-worthy levels of exasperation. 

"I -think- you want to run off half-cocked to do something monumentally stupid because Stiles didn't invite you on his little play date. -That's- what I think you want." He makes sure to inject every ounce of derision he can muster into those two sentences, hoping his beta understands just how ridiculous all of this is! Sure, he's not happy that a group of grown superheroes have latched onto their friend and begun to draw his attention away from the Pack. Nor is he particularly happy that Stiles was feeling up Captain America's abs, but whatever. There is no jealousy there. Not like Isaac is showing. Not at -all-. 

" ** _Exactly_**! I'm glad we understand each other!" Isaac practically howls the words before leaping off the porch. It takes far too long for Derek to realize that the teen means it! He honestly plans to do exactly what Derek had sarcastically suggested. He can feel muscles jumping in his cheeks and eyes as he grinds his teeth in agitation. He shakes himself out and then leaps after his beta, tackling him to the ground with a growl.

"No! If Stiles wanted you or anyone else there, then he would've asked. You are not going down there, Isaac. Just leave it --eh!" He yelps in surprise and shock when he feels a knee in his stomach followed by Isaac managing to throw him off. He chooses to believe it's because he just wasn't ready for it, too wrapped up in trying to get through to the beta. He grunts and carefully lifts himself, eyes narrowed as Isaac takes off at a run, partially shifted.

"If you don't want to protect your beta and packmate, fine! I'll call Jack-Jack! At least -he- cares about Stiles!" That parting shot does more to wound and wind the Alpha than the surprise attack had, leaving him reeling where he stands as he tries to process that. Did anyone in the pack -actually- believe that!? Was anyone operating under the assumption that he doesn't care about Stiles!? The thought stings, because he could see where any number of the Pack, and the Avengers at that, might actually believe such a ridiculous notion. Is he a touchy-feely guy? Hell no! Is he a heartless bastard? Again, hell no! He's .. a taciturn fool that has somehow managed to alienate someone he .. cares .... about. 

Okay, he -may- be a grade A moron that has allowed jealousy to cloud his vision and make him even more of a jerk to the human that probably already thinks he can't stand him. Which is so far from the truth it may as well be on another planet. He curses under his breath before he forces himself to take off running. Even if he believes Natasha wouldn't hurt Stiles, he can't help but want to go with Isaac to check on him.

* * *

"Again!" Black Widow grunts with exertion, her beautiful features a mask of vigorous determination. She inhales silently and then launches herself at Stiles. The teen grunts as he manages to dodge a leg sweep and incoming punch, only to fall prey to a knee to the gut that sends him flailing backward. It's a vast improvement that, rather than fall to his arse, he manages to get himself back under control in enough time to side step another leg sweep. "Better. Not -good-, but better."

"Bite me, Red." He huffs, breathless but also excited. Practically trembling with the kind of adrenaline rush that comes with accomplishment and not running for his life.

"I'm pretty sure over half your pack would kick my ass if I did that, Stiles. What, with their calling -dibs- and all." The words are a more effective distraction than if she had stopped and raised her top. He steps -in to- a right hook and tumbles to the gym floor with a grunt. 

"Oh my GAWD, what are you, -ten-!? Who even -says- dibs anymore? And nice distraction technique, by the way. Obvious lies shouldn't work that well." He carefully climbs to his feet, brushing off his backside as he silently chastises himself for falling for such an obvious ploy.

"There's no way in hell I'm telling you my age, but come on, you would so use the word dibs and we -both- know it. And that was -not- a distraction technique, stiles. That was blatant, obvious truth. How can you not get this?" His continued look of confusion prompts an epic eye roll before she sighs heavily and steps back a few paces. "Come on! I've been watching you for a while now, Stiles. The one with the dimples? Danny? The kid may as well be literally panting after you with how obvious he is! If Jackson would leave your side for a single moment, I'm pretty sure Danny would've thoroughly jumped you by now. And then there's Lydia. If you took a single bit of initiative and -told- her that you wanted a date, she'd be on your arm in a second flat. Isaac .. pretty sure he'd go the -whole- nine yards for you. Flowers, chocolates, puppy mooning eyes and everything. And there isn't a -thing- you could ask for that he wouldn't give you. I think Boyd would look the other way if Erica decided to date you on the side, and even pretty boy Jackson would skew his known sexuality to get a piece of you. Probably while Danny watched." 

Stiles can almost envision himself as a blue screen with the words singing off written in bold print, because there's no way that his brain is processing all of this. Because there is NO REALITY in which the hotness that is his Pack want anything to do with him. Not in an intimate or romantic way. He would known if that were true, right??

"I ... there's .. how could ... wrong." His words jumble into a half wheezing mess as he tries to get himself under control. It's downright -cruel- to say these horrible things to him. He can take teasing, ribbing, ragging and jesting, but this is just -mean-. Mocking and making fun are not alright. "You're wrong, okay! None of them want me in .. that way. They're all .. gorgeous and smart, capable and -something-. I'm just .. me. Average. The friend everyone turns to for a laugh or advice, but ultimately grows up and leaves behind. And here you are ... making it sound like everyone but my best friend and my Alpha want me? Whatever." He takes a couple of deep breaths and then moves back into the basic fighting stance she had been teaching him. 

"I'm not .. doing whatever you think I'm doing, Stiles. If you finally took the time to stop worrying about everyone but yourself long enough to actually pay attention, then you'd see what I'm talking about." He grunts with exertion as he dodges two punches and a kick, stumbling back a little but catching himself before he falls or makes a complete fool of himself. "But, uh .. speaking of the Alpha .." She leads the words slow and deliberate, he assumes so that he will know that she means whatever she's about to say. "Is Derek seeing anyone?" After a question like that, there was no move Natasha could have made that Stiles would've been capable of dodging. So, he takes a kick to the chest, sending him reeling backward and falling as he struggles to catch his breath. "STILES! Oh god, I didn't mean to .. are you okay? I didn't think the kick would land! You've been doing so well!!" 

"It .. it's okay. Not your fault. Just .. took me by surprise." Stiles lets out a harsh, breathless ... and mirthless laugh. "I mean, it shouldn't .. not really. Beautiful people find each other and like recognizes like, so of -course- you're interested in him. I mean, you're both gorgeous and kick ass and capable of so much, makes sense. Yeah. You, uh .. you should totally ask him out. Our Alpha deserves a chance to be happy." And Stiles just knows that said happiness could -never- come from a spaz like him.

"Oh, Stiles." Widow whispers his name full of such sadness that it is bordering on pity and he -hates- that. He doesn't want pity, damn it! She rushes forward, dropping to her knee next to him, a hand running sympathetically up and down the centre of his chest. It would be in this awkward position that Isaac and Derek find them.

* * *

Isaac rounds the corner into the gym and nearly howls at what he sees. Black Widow, the woman that had called Stiles their -pet- is kneeling next to the prone teen. He's laying on his back, black workout pants slung low on his hips, showing off slight hiplines. His chest is bare, a bit of dust trailing down to his stomach. Grains being disturbed an redistributed by the -hand that the bitch is stroking him with-!!

While his roar could never be as massive, deep, thunderous or impressive as the roar of his Alpha ... his roar shakes the very foundation of the gym as he launches himself toward Black Widow. A clawed hand grabs her by the nape of the neck and tosses her across the slick gym floor. Some feral part of him reeks of satisfaction when the dampened thunk of her sliding into the wall is heard. He is overcome with a sense of accomplishment even as he climbs up and over his friend/packamate/den mother, crouching low in a protective stance. His fierce beta yellow gaze is pinned on the slumped form of Black Widow, his claws hooked like talons ready to tear her apart if she approaches them.

"What the HELL is going on here!?!" Derek's Alpha roar is overwhelming and unrelenting. So much so, Isaac is vaguely aware of the sound of glass cracking around the room, though he's too far gone in his wolf to give a damn. He is so far gone that all he does is throw his head back and HOWL a -warning- to his -Alpha- to step off and move away. "Isaac!" The Alpha snarls the name, but it does very little to get through to the beta. 

"Just .. just stay -back-, Derek!" Stiles whimpers the words, fighting down a wave of terror that he just can't help. He loves Isaac! The pup is a good friend and a packmate, but he's still a powerful werewolf that could rend him limb from limb in a fit of pique and there's little he could do to protect himself. So, even though he knows Isaac would never intentionally hurt him, he knows that there's a chance it could happen.

"Stiles!" The Alpha growls his name, taking a few steps closer. "He could rip you to shreds at any minute. Now is -not- the time to try and be the fucking hero!" Because if Isaac hurts Stiles, Derek knows he will snap and probably kill his Beta. No matter how deep their bond, there would be no overcoming the instinct to kill the one that hurt his ... whatever Stiles is.

Isaac roars again, crouching lower over Stiles' prone form as Derek moves closer. One hand reaches down, the ends of his claws pressed against the bruised flesh of Stiles' chest, barely straining against the skin.

"Damn it, Alpha, back OFF! If you come any closer, he's going to do something we are -all- going to regret!" Stiles groans the words, wincing when he feels the press of claws against his vulnerable skin. A little more pressure and those claws would be buried in him. He sucks in a careful, gentle breath, looking up toward the crouched figure. "Pup .." His voice is soft and cajoling, but full of authority. Isaac blinks slowly, bares his fangs at Derek, but shifts just enough for Stiles to realize that he has the Beta's attention. "Isaac Lahey, you will stand -down-! I am in -no- danger, baby boy, so there's no reason for fangs and claws! Do you understand me?!" 

The human does the best he can to tap into his 'Parental' voice. A perfect mix of his Mom's earnest voice and his Dad's stern voice. What results is a commanding tone that causes the werewolf to whimper and whine softly. To move almost restlessly as he begins to look between Derek, the slump of Black Widow and Stiles.

"Isaac! Get. Off. OF. ME!" Stiles snarls each word, enunciating each with as much warning and threat as he can muster. Isaac whines deeply and leans down, almost desperately rubbing the sprouted hair of his cheek against the bruise on the chest of the poor human teen. It burns and aches, but he gets it. He really does. Isaac is stuck in his need to make sure that Stiles is protected. For this reason, it seems the human is going to have to do something drastic to get through to his friend.

So, Stiles chuffs angrily and looks the werewolf over for a moment. He reaches up as quickly as he can, fingers clamping tight enough on the nape of the werewolf's neck that he would leave bruises behind if the creature didn't heal so quickly. At the same time, he lunges forward to bury his blunt, human teeth into the creature's shoulder. Isaac whines and howls, more in emotional pain than physical, and immediately rolls up and off of Stiles, leaving the human free once more.

As Stiles begins to carefully climb to his feet, Isaac snuffles and sniffles, before shaking himself out of his transformation. He turns his big, puppy eyes on Stiles with a groan.

"Oh god, are you okay, Stiles!? Did I hurt you? Is Black Widow okay??" For some reason, the barrage of questions is actually a comfort. He moves forward and wraps his arms gingerly around his friend, squeezing him close in the hug. 

"I'm fine, Isaac. You didn't hurt me, Pup, just tried to protect me." He squeezes a second time and then pulls away altogether, looking to the wall where Natasha is carefully pushing herself to her feet.

"Not that I'm not impressed with how voraciously you protected your packmate and all, kid, but if you -ever- throw me like that again, I'm going to break so many bones in your body. Just saying." Derek turns away from his betas, striding quickly toward the downed Avenger to help her to her feet. No sooner is she standing, however, than he has a hand around her throat. Alpha red eyes blazing in his anger as he holds her.

"And if you -ever- bruise him like that again, Avenger or not, I'm going to rip your head off your shoulders! You're lucky Isaac got to you before I could." He shakes her violently, pressing forward slowly so that her back is against the wall. Her feet dangling off the ground as he snarls in her face.

"Derek!" Stiles rushes away from Isaac, heading in the direction of the Alpha werewolf and the Avenger. "Please, stop, Alpha! It's my fault!!" Derek turns his away from Natasha just enough to snarl angrily in Stiles' direction.

"How the hell is her beating you to a bruised pulp -your- fault, Stiles!? See, -this- is why I wanted these idiots to go through the proper channels for your training! So that you wouldn't get hurt!!" The human recoils at the words, his hand flying up to scrub down his face. See, this right here, is why he has begun to enjoy the Avengers taking an interest in him. Because they -understand- that he is going to get hurt. It's the whole reason for him to train! So that he can try and keep himself safe as best he can, because there's no way in hell he's ever going to stop trying to help. It's just not in him to do that. To back down.

"Damn it, Derek, I am GOING TO GET HURT! There is NOTHING you can do about that! Nothing .. nothing short of kicking me out of the Pack is ever going to make me stop trying to help, and even that probably wouldn't work! I am going to get hurt, bruised, beaten up .. there's no getting around that, Alpha. But at least -they- are willing to help teach me. To give me the tools to survive in this world." Derek growls, low and deep in his chest, when Natasha begins to wiggle in his hold. Slowly, he lowers her feet to the ground, but he doesn't let go of her throat. He continues to apply pressure, reminding her that he can snap her neck like a twig if she does anything stupid. (A part of him -really- wants to do just that. Vengeance for her laying a hand on his human and hurting him. But, he is still in control enough to know that he can't just kill a human woman for that. He must live in the human world, no matter how much he is part of the Supernatural one.)

"You just don't get it, Stiles!" Derek actually Alpha roars the words this time, turning to shove the struggling Avenger toward the human. Stiles manages to catch her, stumbling backward but still standing as he holds Natasha around the waist. "I have lost EVERYTHING that I love! I am NOT losing you too!" The gym shakes with the force of his words, windows rattling and cracking further as Derek heaves for breath. It is only when he is met with complete and utter -silence- that he realizes what he said. HOW MUCH he has said.

He chuffs even as his eyes snap closed. As every muscle in his body goes tight and rigid with the desire to do what he -never- does .. run away.

"D-Derek --" He can't let Stiles speak. He just can't. The last thing he needs to hear, when he's this keyed up, is some speech about Lydia or Danny. Some quip about how they are different species or something. He turns away quickly.

"Just shut up, Stiles." He sighs the words, heavy with the burden of being an Alpha that can't afford to want anything. He runs from the gym, retreating from the one he will never have, leaving his betas behind as he flees into the night.


	5. Brother To the Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews, kudos, etc. I'm glad everyone has enjoyed this story!

* * *

Natasha is gone. A strategic retreat back to the Avengers compound to metaphorically lick her wounds. Stiles can't really blame her. Bearing the bruises of a pissed off Alpha is not exactly the highlight of a visit, is it? He still can't believe that Derek had grabbed her that way! Not that he's really thinking about Natasha at the moment! How can he, after Derek's bombshell??

Poor Stiles has spent the entire week trying to understand what the hell is going on! Why the Avengers have taken an interest in him, why the Pack has been anti-Avengers since they started showing up, and what Derek actually meant before he stormed out of the gym. He just can't allow himself to believe that Derek meant he cared about him, let alone the possibility that he might be in love with him. Some part of him is waiting for this all to be a joke. That somehow, in some way, the Avengers have teamed up with the Pack to pull some horrendous prank on him.

Because of that little whispering doubt, he has been avoiding the Pack and any phone calls the Avengers have made to him. His voicemail has long since filled up in the past week, and he has been dodging Isaac's puppy eyes and Jackson's clingy hands. The entire Pack has been looking longingly at him from across the school as he does everything he can to keep space between them.

Not because he's mad at them or anything, or even because he really believes his insecure thoughts. But because he just can't handle it right now. It would be impossible to den maker for his Pups when he can barely keep himself emotionally stable at the right now. He keeps falling into his own overactive, twisted thoughts, finding himself spacing out at the worse moments. Like now.

"Am I boring you, Mr. Stilinski? Do you feel you don't need prepping for next year?" Mr. Harris' voice is scathing and petulant, as always. But it still has the authority to yank Stiles from his thoughts and force him to pay attention. "Just because you managed to pass by some miracle this year, doesn't mean that you will be ready for next year." He hunches his shoulders over the open notebook that he has been neglecting for the past half hour, not really in the mood to sass the teacher back as he usually would.

"Whatever. Every one knows that Stiles would have a near perfect grade in this class if you didn't purposefully deduct him because he won't use his birth name." Stiles jerks upward, head snapping around in the direction of voice. Jackson, Danny, and Isaac are clustered around a table in the far back, all three of them glaring openly at Mr. Harris. Surprisingly, it's Jackson that seems to have jumped at the chance to sass the teacher on his behalf, and he feels both proud and horrified by that. Proud because it is the perfect example of just how much they have all grown as individuals as well as a Pack. Horrified because he doesn't want his friend to get in trouble over some asshole like Harris.

"Purposefully deduct? It's a part of my tests, Mr. Whittemore. If you have a problem with that, you can see me after school to discuss it." Mr. Harris snaps the words, seemingly reluctant to punish the wealthy, popular kid. Had it been Stiles, however, the asshole probably would've tried to force him into summer school or something for punishment. 

"But he's right. You do that just to punish Stiles. You've never deducted me for not using my real name on a test." Isaac practically growls the words and Stiles has to swallow down his knee-jerk reaction to walk over and try and calm his Pup. The middle of a classroom is -not- the time for him to be the den maker! His second reaction, however, he can't manage to curb.

"What! Isaac isn't your real name!? How did I not -know- that!?" If asked, Stiles would testify that he does -not- whine those two questions. (Though he obviously does!) He cannot grasp the thought that Isaac isn't Isaac, because his Pup has -always- been Isaac! -Everyone- knows that Stiles isn't his first name. It's actually a bit of a game in the Pack, the others trying to guess at it and never getting anywhere near the truth. But Isaac? Well, that's information he'll have to file away for later. Oh wait, except he's not really hanging out with the Pack right now.

"Enough!" Stiles jumps at Harris' snapping tone, wincing as he tries to make himself look smaller in his chair. He glances toward the chair beside him, reaching out to grab his backpack and set it in front of himself. "Everyone just be quiet for the rest of the class period." Stiles leans forward to shove his face into his pack so that he can snort derisively without being heard. Even if Harris won't be able to hear it, Stiles -knows- that his packmates are going to be talking. Another plus of their supernatural natures. And he is not jealous. In the slightest. (Okay, he's -burning- with jealousy, but he really doesn't want to be anything -but- human, okay?)

"... we are -so- going to talk about this at some point, Pup." He whispers the words into his backpack, glancing over to see Isaac grinning goofily at him. It sparks that same tidal-wave of warmth that he always feels when he thinks about his pups. His packmates. About the den he has helped rebuild and maintain so that they will always have somewhere to go. 

Unfortunately, he feels the mental equivalent of a cold bucket of water smothering that warmth because thoughts of the den lead to thoughts of the Alpha that owns it. How the hell is he supposed to ever go to the den again with all of this hanging in the air between them? He closes his eyes, burying his face in his backpack in just enough time to miss the pained looks Isaac and Jackson share when they smell the scent of sorrow, confusion and pain wafting off their packmate.

"Excuse me, Mr. Harris, can I please go to the bathroom?" Isaac's hand shoots up, the motion drawing Stiles' questioning gaze, but the werewolf ignores him in favor of slipping out of the room. He watches, curious, as Jackson's head tilts to the side, his eyes going a little distant. Huh. So, he's tracking Isaac, listening to what the werewolf is doing. What could -possibly- being going on!? 

When Jackson's eyes widen a fraction and then cut toward him, he feels his stomach drop a little bit. Okay .. what on Earth could Isaac be doing that would make Jackson look at him!? He huffs a breath and shoves his face back into his pack, sighing. This is going to be a long day.

* * *

Of course, Stiles was right. His day dragged on excruciatingly, with him struggling to avoid the Pack while still focusing on the last few classes of the year. Thankfully, he managed to avoid detention as well. How horrible would it be to get detention on the last day of school!?

And now, finally, he can breathe freely! The last bell of the year has released him from the stifling atmosphere of wounded puppy eyes and unhappy frowns. He bursts out of the school doors, breathing deep of the fresh afternoon air.

"Oh my god! It's -really- him!" A screeching voice catches Stiles off guard, causing him to flail wildly in the direction of a group of girls practically falling all over themselves to get down the stairs and join a large group of girls that seem to be surrounding something ... or some _ **one**_.

"Can I take a picture with you!?"

"Can I have your autograph!?"

"What are you even doing here!?" A gaggle of female questions causes Stiles to roll his eyes and shake his head. Whoever it is, he just doesn't care. He's too emotionally exhausted to give a damn at this point. So, he hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder, silently celebrating the fact that he has two solid months of freedom, when he hears a rather loud, enthusiastic voice he has become so very familiar with.

"I am here seeking my brother! Perhaps you have seen him?" Stiles sucks in a harsh, trembled breath, feeling his entire body vibrate for a moment. Should he be happy or upset to know that Thor has come to Beacon Hills for him? Is -that- what Isaac was doing in the hallway when Jackson was listening so intently?? He doesn't want to admit it, but he knows that he has been ignoring his brother the same as he has been ignoring his Pack. It's not fair, but it is what it is. How the hell is he supposed to tell a freakin' demi-god superhero that he's angsting over teenage problems without getting laughed at!?

So, it seems only logical that he turn and try to skirt the throng of fans surrounding Thor and try to make it to his jeep before his brother knows that he's there. (Honestly, given the fact that -everything- seems to backfire and go wrong for him, you'd think that he would expect it to happen here. And yet, it takes him completely by surprise.)

"Stiles!!" Thor's voice booms and echoes, causing the students gathered around the Asgardian to jump and whirl around in surprise. He doesn't have to study their faces to know that they are all looking at him in utter disbelief and confusion. After all, what's the school loser doing with an Avenger saying his name? In what world is it -fair- for the weird kid to be acquainted with a superhero?? He swallows down the negative thoughts and forces himself to plaster on the most convincing smile he can muster. (Spoiler alert: it ain't that convincing.) "Well met, little brother!" The Asgardian rushes forward and scoops Stiles up into a bone crushing hug before the teen has a chance to move. Instead, he wheezes out a halfhearted greeting as Thor holds him to his chest.

"Well met, big brother. What are you doing here?" He doesn't mean the words as an accusation, but that is how they come out. Luckily, Thor is far too enthused to recognize the tone. He sets Stiles on his feet and then brings a massive hand down, onto his shoulder, in an affectionate pat.

"Your pup called me. Young Isaac says that you have been feeling down, brother. Imagine my surprise to hear such troubling news from a member of your Pack and not yourself." Stiles' eyes dart quickly around, making sure that none of his classmates are within range of the words and breathing a sigh of relief when he realizes that they aren't. Though, they are still looking at him oddly, with confusion and in some cases, outright disdain. He flinches away from the accusatory glances, turning his attention back to the Avenger.

"This is not the place to talk about this kind of stuff, Thor. Just .. lets go." He reaches out to grab at the larger man's arm, dragging him in the direction of his jeep. Of course, within the hour, it's going to be all over Beacon Hills that Thor came to the high school looking for him and that he had the **_gall_** to drag the Avenger off by the arm, but Stiles isn't thinking about that. All he's thinking about is getting this day over and done with so that he can go to sleep and plan his dismal summer out.

* * *

"Stiles!" The sound of his dad's miffed voice is the first thing to greet him when he opens the door to the house. He winces, considers turning right around and leading Thor back out to his jeep, but he knows he can't. His Dad will know that he's here, after all. "The last day of school, Stiles, seriously!?" The teen wants nothing more than to sink into himself as he hears his Dad walking in from the living room. "Mr. Harris called to tell me that you're damn lucky you didn't get detention on your last day." The Sheriff steps into the kitchen, a tired glare on his face as he stares his son down, seeming unaware of Thor standing in the doorway behind him. "Are you -trying- to make me prematurely grey, kid? After everything else you've pulled this year, you cause problems on the last day of school??"

Where's a hole in the ground to swallow you up when you need one!? Or a friend/packmate to take up for you? 

"It wasn't like that, Dad. Yeah, okay, I spaced out a little bit, but, I didn't do -anything- to warrant a detention, which is why I didn't actually get one. Harris is a jerk that singles me out for no good reason. Everyone knows it!"

"Damn it, Stiles, I'm sick and tired of this! For once in your life, stop lying and trying to push this off on someone else! Just for once, I want a son that is -normal-!" Those words cut and bite Stiles to the quick, leaving him feeling raw and frayed at the edges. He hasn't felt this empty and wounded since the Wolfsbane punch at Lydia's party made him hallucinate his Dad saying things similar to this. Only this time .. he knows damn well that it's real.

He sucks in a deep breath, feels the prickle of tears at the edges of his vision and quickly blinks them back. He's supposed to be stronger than this! Have more backbone than this, so he swallows down the pain and anguish, but never gets the chance to retort. After all, what are brothers for, right?

"You are a bringer of law, yes? As well as Father of my brother?" There is something slow and dangerous in Thor's voice. At least, as far as Stiles registers. His dad, however, seems oblivious to it.

"Look, I'm glad that you lot have taken an interest in my son, but this is something between me and him." Stiles forces himself to square his shoulders and prepare to get ready to deal with his dad's lecture head on. The sooner it's over with, the sooner he can crawl off to his room to lick his metaphorical wounds.

"That is where you are wrong. This very much concerns me and is now between the two of us. Stiles! I believe there is something in your room that requires your attention. Go now, little brother." He hesitates, torn between what he should do and what he -wants- to do. In the end, he reaches back to squeeze Thor's arm before he turns and practically runs for the stairs that lead up and to his room. Once there, he shoves the door roughly closed and leans his back against it. He can feel tears stinging at the backs of his eyes and for once, he just wants to let them fall already. 

"Stiles!?" He recognizes the growl immediately, obviously. Lord knows that it has been aimed at him enough this past year. It's also the -last- person he expected to see perched on the end of his bed any time soon.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He doesn't mean the words to sound as harsh and brutal as they do, but neither is he prepared to take it back. To try and soften the blow. He's too wrung out for that, no matter how much he likes the Alpha.

"Right. I shouldn't ..." Derek grumbles the words so low and soft that Stiles nearly misses them. Especially when the werewolf immediately stands and strides toward the open window.

"Go ahead, make running away a new habit, Derek." He doesn't have the mental strength to make the words chastising or even angry. Instead, they sound as tired and wiped out as he is currently feeling. "Just .. what did you even come here for, if you're just going to jump out the window the first chance you get?!" He can feel the anger **_-finally-_** beginning to bubble up inside him. It's hot and swift, robs him of breath and leaves him a panting mess against the door as he presses tighter against it. Using the wooden structure to keep himself standing at this point.

He's concentrating so hard on keeping himself -upright- that he doesn't even notice that Derek has turned away from the window and walked right up, into his personal space. In fact, it looks as if Derek is prepared to recreate the moment when he had threatened him while hiding from the law. Instead of reaching to grab him by the shirt front, however, he plants his hands, palms down, on either side of Stiles' head. 

The wall of unforgiving, unrelenting heat is the first thing that draws Stiles' out of his overwhelming thoughts. When his eyes open, he nearly goes cross-eyed trying to track Derek's movements. Because the Alpha is leaning forward, pressing his weight into Stiles' body even as he begins to drag the tip of his nose across the stretched curve of his throat and he honestly isn't sure how to react. He can feel his knees going weak again, his stomach flipping and dipping strangely, and his heart is beating wildly. What's worse, he's pretty sure that Derek can hear and feel every single one of those reactions and he isn't giving anything away about how he's feeling at the moment. Or, more accurately, how he is feeling about Stiles' reactions.

"Your Dad is -wrong-, Stiles." Each word is a rush of hot breath against his skin and it leaves him feeling chilled and oversensitive as Derek continues to run his nose along his skin. Breathing him in. -SCENT MARKING- him .. just like Isaac said. It seems he owes his Pup, Danny, and Jackson one hell of a large apology. Given the weird sort of almost-confession involving feelings and the fact that Derek is -very- obviously scent marking him at the moment ... they were right and he's not too much of a fool to admit that he was wrong. Though he honestly doesn't see how he missed that one! "There's nothing ... I would change about you." 

Stiles sucks in a breath and it burns all the way down to the pit of his stomach. Some part of him is aware of how cliche this moment is. That he could plop it in the middle of a romantic comedy and it would fit perfectly. Apparently, his angsty teenage soul really doesn't -care- about that fact, because he finds himself eating it up. The words warm him from the inside out and he finds himself having to blink back tears for a totally different reason. 

"D-Derek .." He whispers his Alpha's name hoarsely, clearing his throat weakly as he tries to get a handle on his words. Now is -not- the time for words to fail him, damn it!

"Don't, Stiles. Just .. don't, okay? For once, you don't -have- to say anything." There is a soft note of resignation and bitterness in the werewolf's voice and that undoes Stiles more than anything else in the situation has. 

"No, actually, I really, -really- do. For once, you are going to shut up and -listen- to me." Stiles cannot begin to guess where the sudden bout of courage comes from, but he seizes upon it with all that he's worth. He reaches out, hands shaking a little as they thread across the stubbled cheeks of his Alpha, drawing Derek's nose away from his throat. Otherwise, he's pretty sure he wouldn't retain his sanity enough to get through this. (Who knew having a dangerous apex predator nose and sniff at his throat would be so damn hot? It was -not- a kink he was expecting to have!) Once Derek's glowing red eyes are focused on him, he leans closer. Nearly nose to nose with the powerful supernatural creature in front of him. "You are off your furry little -rocker- if you think I'm getting ready to .. to turn you down or something." He can feel the Alpha tense under his hands and he struggles to strengthen his hold. (Though he is perfectly aware that if Derek -really- wanted to get away, he would. Stiles is nothing compared to the werewolf.)

"Stiles --"

"No, sourwolf. LISTEN for a change." He growls the words, hoping that he doesn't sound like a pathetic moron for trying to do something so wild and bestial in the face of a predator. Given the way Derek's eyes widen, pupils dilate slightly, and the tremble he feels rumble through the werewolf, he's assuming it's a sound the Alpha actually likes. "You really don't get it, do you? You're my friend and my Alpha, Derek, but you're so much -more- than that too, dude." He feels the first tremors of doubt welling up in his mind, sapping his strength of conviction. He's an ADHD teenager, what the hell could he -possibly- offer a damn Alpha Werewolf!? 

"Just .. stop and -think- about it. I'm a human running with wolves .. I put my life into your hands on a weekly basis, and trust you to protect me. I do everything in my power to take care of you and your Pack. Hell, I maintain your -den- for you, sourwolf. I don't even take care of -Scott- on that level!" The mention of his best friend draws a deep-chested, rumbling growl from the werewolf and Stiles jerks in surprise at the reaction. It takes him far too long to understand .. Derek is -jealous- of the mention of Scott. Were they not in such an intimate, odd discussion of feelings, he doesn't think he would've heard the growl. But the Alpha's instincts cannot be curbed in this situation. 

Suddenly, Stiles -really- doesn't want to be looking those blood red Alpha eyes dead on. Because it makes something ache deep inside of him and he knows that if he's not careful, he's going to get lost in his own mind while he's trying to make himself be understood. So, he drops his hands from Derek's cheeks. Instead, one hand settles on his strong shoulder and the other slips around to cup the nape of his neck. He guides the Werewolf's nose back against the virgin expanse of his neck, shivering and biting back a moan when he feels the scrape of stubble and lips against his skin. Already, he's beginning to flush and redden there.

"Your Betas are my -Pups-, Derek! I cook for you more than I cook for my dad these days. I chose you over the Avengers. I could've been spending every night with them visiting but instead, I agreed to tell them that they had to -schedule time with me through you-. If you really think that all of that means I don't have an interest in you ... I really need to rethink my infatuation here, big guy." This time, the Alpha werewolf growls -into- his throat and it takes everything in him to remain standing when his blood begins to boil in excitement. How screwed up is he, that he finds the dangerous supernatural creature growling into his vulnerable flesh to be such a turn on?!? 

"Don't you -dare-, Stiles." The authoritative command in the Alpha's voice is sexy as hell and Stiles forgets how to breathe for a second. He would much rather beg the werewolf to devour him and that might not be the healthiest of reactions, but whatever. He has no desire to psychoanalyze himself. "Mine." That singular possessive word does more to send Stiles into meltdown than anything else has so far.

"Yes - yes! Yours, Alpha." His voice breaks twice, overrun by a hybrid mix of a moan and a whimper when he feels Derek growl against his throat again. This time, it's possessive and wild, almost feral as strong arms wrap around his lanky frame and pull him close to the brick-wall strength of the werewolf's body. He has only a moment to realize he's being moved before he feels his knees hit the edge of his bed, feels himself sprawl across the structure.

"Stiles!" Thor's exuberant voice cuts through the cloud of hormones and emotion, causing the teenager to jerk in surprise and sit up quickly. In the very next moment, Derek is shifted, eyes blazing and jaws gnashing threateningly as he turns to face the bedroom door. The teen barley has time to register the Alpha dropping into a protective crouch in front of him before Thor has stepped into the room. The Asgardian is smirking, though the expression is somehow unreadable. "Alpha Hale." Thor pitches his voice so that he is being both respectful and warning all at the same time. 

Slowly, Stiles pushes himself up, off the bed. Reaches out almost blindly to lay his hands on Derek. He ends up with one open palm pressed at the center of Derek's back, right atop the Triskele tattoo. His other hand grabs the werewolf at the hip, holding tight. There is no way in hell that Stiles will survive watching his Alpha and his brother fight. 

"Derek." Slowly, he feels the muscles under his hands uncoil and relax a fraction. He releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding once he realizes that his Alpha is slowly coming back to himself. 

"Thor." Derek grunts the word from a mouth returned to normal now that his teeth have reverted. "Thank you for stepping in with Stiles' dad." The teen winces at those words, immediately yanking his hands off of Derek's body and letting himself sink onto the foot of the bed again.

"I did not do it for you, Alpha Hale. I did it for my brother. I will always do everything I can to protect you, Stiles." The teen manages to conjure a half smile that doesn't reach his eyes, head bobbing in understanding of the promise. 

"Thanks, Thor." He mumbles the words before he reaches up to rub his hands down his cheeks. This day has been a roller-coaster that has left him feeling drained and numb. 

"Stiles." Derek speaks so surprisingly soft, that Stiles is sure he's hearing things. Until he feels the bed compress next to him and a powerful shoulder pressed ever so gently to his own. When he glances over, however, the werewolf is looking at Thor rather than him. He watches them exchange raised eyebrows and nods before Derek turns the full brunt of his intense gaze onto the teen. "I got a call today ... that's why I came here." Stiles feels his stomach flip and he tries his best not to tense, but he doesn't succeed. Because all he can think is that the call had to be -bad- to make Derek willing to come here after running away.

"And?" He breathes the word on a tired exhale and doesn't miss the fact that Thor and Derek exchange glances again. 

"And .. it was from Mr. Stark. He called to talk to me about you going to New York for the summer." The Alpha shifts uncomfortably for a moment, before he exhales and looks straight into Stiles' eyes again. "In fact, he extended the invitation to the entire Pack. Thor was kind enough to talk to your Dad about it."

"He said yes, by the way." The Asgardian flashes a half feral, half jovial smile as he makes the statement, and Stiles feels a little sick to his stomach because he's honestly worried about how the conversation went between the two. He has a feeling that any chance of his two family members getting along has already been thrown out the window. (Sadly, he knows the same is true of his Dad and his Pack. Though, he has no intention of ever telling his Dad the secret, so maybe it doesn't matter.) 

"Every one has okayed it. So, the Pack leaves in three days." Stiles sucks in a breath, looking between both of them, making sure that they are telling the truth and not playing some cruel joke on him. He hesitates only a moment before he throws himself into Derek's lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"Thank you thank you THANK YOU!!" He throws all dignity to the wind by squeaking the words moments before he seals his lips over his Alpha's in an excited, giddy kiss of happiness. Derek seems to freeze for a few moments before he drags Stiles all the closer and leans deeper into the kiss.

"Seriously? Right in front of me? That is -not- something I need to see!" Thor groans the words, causing Stiles to jerk back, out of the kiss. Though Derek makes sure to keep the teen pinned lightly in his lap. "I will take my leave, let you and your Alpha celebrate. I look forward to spending the summer with you, little brother. And you, Alpha Hale ... I -really- look forward to my brotherly duties once you are in New York. If you do not prove worthy of Stiles ... well, it will be an interesting summer." He walks over and lifts Stiles' from Derek's lap, ignoring the snarl and growl the werewolf gives. He hugs his brother tightly before depositing the teen back in the Alpha's lap.

Once Thor is out of the room, Stiles turns and buries his face into the crook of Derek's neck. Nipping lazily, unable to keep his grin at bay.

"Thanks, Derek. For letting all of us do this." Derek chuckles despite himself, eyes slipping to half mast as he holds the teen.

"Yeah, well .. I know you need to get away from here for a bit. But there was no way in -hell- you were going all the way to New York without me or the Pack, Stiles. Isaac and Jackson would've tracked you down in a heartbeat, and Scott would be insufferable with you gone all summer." Stiles laughs against Derek's neck, so easily able to envision it all. Isaac and Jackson glaring at one another on the plane ride, noses immediately in the air to track him down, probably with Danny acting as tech support to find his low-jacked phone. And then Scott all puppy dog pouts and whining every time he turns around and Stiles isn't there. 

"And you?" He hazards the question, feeling his heart hammer almost painfully in anticipation of his answer. 

"Me? Stiles ... you wouldn't have made it to the airport without me. We both know I'm ... observant." Stalker. He's a stalker. And Stiles is surprisingly okay with that! He nuzzles at the curve of Derek's jaw, grinning goofily.

"I'm glad you're going with me, Derek. It wouldn't be as much fun without you and the Pack." Derek squeezes the teen lightly before reluctantly moving Stiles out of his lap and standing.

"I'm sure it'll be .. interesting. Get some sleep, Stiles. We'll meet at the Den in three days and go from there." Derek hesitates for a moment before he dips down to press a chaste, surprisingly sweet kiss to Stiles' lips. The teen melts into it, before giving his Alpha a tired smile.

"Goodnight, Derek." He watches the Alpha slip out his window before he falls back onto the bed. 

How the hell is this even his -life-!? He's going to NEW YORK to spend the SUMMER with his PACK and the AVENGERS! He allows a half hysterical giggle to bubble up. God, but this is going to be great! For the first time sine Scott got bit ... Stiles has hope for the future! 

No matter what happens now, he has Derek, Thor, and everyone else. 

**fin**


End file.
